Not Not-Human
by Forensica X
Summary: It started with cold-case disappearances and murders. Then, unexplainable disasters ravaged the countryside while terrorist attacks rocked the major cities of the UK. It all led up to two explosions in one night and a day marked by owls filling the skies. Rose and the Doctor saw the signs of a fantastic adventure, but they never expected what they found at number four Privet Drive.
1. Beginnings

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated. I make no profit from this work.

A/N: This is my first crossover featuring _Harry Potter_, or any other work. I found myself inspired by Book of Changes's _A Study in Magic_. It's a great crossover between BBC's _Sherlock_ and JK's world. Do try it out if you find yourself in the mood. It's excellent.

Due to the nature of the crossover, expect a time shift forward or back dependent on the universe. Let's just suppose that the alternate Earth depicted here is a few years behind that of the "real" Earth according to Rowling's cannon beginning in 1981. Also, ignores certain comments in Season 3, Episode 3 of _Doctor Who_.

Heavy Dialogue in this chapter, but don't worry: We'll fall into a more normal narrative style in future chapters. Consider this an extended prologue.

Please review! Happy reading!

* * *

Chapter One: Beginnings

* * *

_**2 November 2002**_

"This way, Rose!"

A man in a trench coat ran pell-mell down the otherwise quiet suburban street. A tabby cat yowled and ran off as he jumped a low garden wall to skid, reeling, across the perfectly manicured lawn of the house numbered "four."

"Doctor, the scanner says twenty feet south!"

"Don't be ridiculous! It's just a boring old house."

The man called Doctor raised a silver instrument and the light at the end began blinking as merry whirring broke the quiet of the early morning.

"Same reading, but there's nothing here! Perfectly normal house on a perfectly normal street in the middle of nowhere."

A small snuffling noise sounded from the dark doorstep just out of reach from number four's dim lamp and the faint blue glow of the sonic screwdriver.

"Owls! Owls all week! Mystery fireworks! Supposed natural disasters, bodies, death, destruction…"

"Doctor," Rose frowned, staring past the manically pacing man.

"A thousand trails this past month, then the other day there's an explosion in a tiny little no-where town and nothing! And now! Now!"

The Doctor spun in a circle, his little gadget whirring in varying frequencies.

"It's here! It's stronger than anything we've detected before-"

"Doctor."

"Incredible! It's almost Time-Lord-y. The electromagnetic disturbance emanating from whatever it is-"

"Doctor!"

"Whirring chronons spinning in infinitesimal loops just here!"

"Doctor!"

Rose grabbed his sleeve and pulled him about to face the darkened doorstep.

"There's a baby."

"Don't be ridiculous. What would a baby be doing out in November? It's barely morning."

The Doctor fiddled with his gadget again.

"Signal, signal, signal…"

Rose pushed past the muttering man to scoop up the wriggling, whimpering bundle.

"Whoa! What happened?" the Doctor held his screwdriver to his ear, adjusting one of the tiny dials on its shaft. "Rose, did you see anything? Huge energy spike just there!"

"Doctor, please, shut up and look."

"What? What's so important that –"

The Doctor frowned and leaned over Rose's shoulder to peer down into the bluish face of a baby. A cut in the shape of a lightning bolt oozed blood over the child's forehead. He shivered beneath his blanket and sucked on his thumb.

"Well what do you know? Hello there, little chap," the Doctor whispered. "Let's take a look."

He held the sonic screwdriver over the baby's face. The man's bushy brows furrowed.

"That's impossible. Impossible."

"You know that thing where you withhold information everyone else needs to hear?"

"Yes, right. The signals we've been tracing for months and months, the same whatever it is – it's coming from this little guy. And that cut. There's a conflicting energy signal, some other residue, clinging to just that one focused location."

"Okay, but what's wrong with him?"

Rose unzipped her coat and pulled the bundled baby closer to her. He began to cry in earnest now, the pitiful wails interspersed with half-formed words.

"What's that he's saying?"

"Mummy. Man with red eyes hurt mummy," the Doctor whispered.

"What, do you speak baby now?" Rose gasped, rocking back and forth.

"I've always spoken baby," he frowned and scanned the little boy. "He's too cold. Much, much too cold."

"What type of person leaves a baby out on a doorstep like a bloody milk jug?"

"The type I dearly want a word with."

The Doctor stood straight, smoothed the front of his pinstripe suit, and wrapped hard on the door of number four.

Petunia Dursley had been experiencing an especially odd morning, which was the direct opposite of the type of day she was accustomed to having.

All morning, the strangest reports had been on the news. The delightful routine of breakfast and tea, complete with an early-morning romp with her darling husband, was marred by the unexpected visit from her little boy at the bedroom door. Now, someone was disturbing her as she finished mixing up the dough for fresh buttered scones.

This, of course, interrupted the only normalcy of her day, but, ever the impeccable house wife, she wiped the displeasure from her face and dusted her hands on her apron as she opened the door.

"Yes, may I help you?"

A hand held the identification for a Detective Inspector John Smith of Scotland Yard in front of her face. She barely registered the information listed there when its owner whipped it away.

"Yes, in fact, I think you can," said a slender, dark-haired, decidedly unhappy young man.

"You, madam, have a lot of explaining to do," said the blonde woman beside him.

Petunia backed away from the door to allow them entry, her eyes scanning the street for onlookers.

"I'm afraid I haven't an idea what you're talking about. And what's… What's that she's holding?"

"That's exactly what I want to know," the inspector said in a low growl. "Why was there a baby on your doorstep?"

Petunia's face paled. She pulled the woman over the threshold and shut the door against potential prying eyes. The two looked at her expectantly.

"Well, I don't know! He's not mine! My Duddykins is upstairs sleeping, still."

"A baby shows up on your doorstep, of all the boring old doorsteps on this street, and you don't have any idea as to why?"

"I don't-"

The blonde glared at her.

"You don't recognize him?"

"No, I do not. Now please-"

"Who do we have the pleasure of addressing this morning?" the Doctor continued.

"Petunia Dursley. I've no idea who the little mongrel is, or where he came from, but he certainly isn't ours. We've only got one son."

"Right, then I'm sure you'll explain this," the Doctor raised a letter from the folds of the baby's blanket. The Doctor cleared his throat and pushed a pair of square spectacles onto his nose and slid a thumb under the emerald green wax seal with a flourish.

"Dear Mrs Dursley..."

_It is my greatest regret to inform you Lily Elizabeth Evans Potter and James Charlus Ignatius Potter died the evening of thirty-one October, the two-thousand-and-second year of the Christian God, in defence of their son – your nephew – Harry James Potter. _

_Leaving behind neither will nor indication of their wishes, it has been determined that the safest place for Lily and James's child is with your family. It is imperative not only to his safety, but also yours and your son's, that Harry has a home with you until his seventeenth year._

_On his eleventh birthday, it will no longer be your responsibility to care for the boy year-round. At that time, we will offer him a place at our venerable institution. In addition, so long as Harry's needs are met, a sum will be forwarded to your accounts appropriate to the maintenance of Harry's welfare at the end of every month._

_In return for sharing your home, you will be guaranteed a reprieve from the evil that murdered your sister and so many of your friends and neighbours over the past several years. Turn him out, and there is nothing that can save you from the black veil of death. They know Lily Potter had a muggle sister. They know how to find you, your husband, and your son. They will offer no mercy, no quarter, to any of you. These villains are perpetrators of the darkest deeds. Only Harry can prevent this. Only Harry can save us all._

"It's not signed," the Doctor concluded. "Well. That's not quite what I expected."

"Lily-" Petunia half-gasped. Her hands shook, clenched in her apron. Her face cycled from bright crimson to sickly yellow.

"Doctor-"

"Later, Rose. Well, Mrs Dursley? What have you got to say for yourself?"

The waifish woman looked up and her lips pressed into a thin white line.

"_Freaks! _The lot of them! She goes and gets herself _murdered_ and now they want me to take her demon spawn?"

Petunia backed away from the intruders. She looked between them both as if either would attack at any moment.

"I won't! You can't make me! I know what his kind are like! Did _he_ send you? That mad professor? I can't do it and he can just-"

"Mrs Dursley, we're police officers of Scotland Yard. The Doctor and me wouldn't hurt you and we're not going to make you do anything. We just want to know what's going on."

"Rose," the Doctor whispered. "Give her some room. Let her be. There's more here than we thought."

He folded the letter back up and put it away to leave his hands open in a placating gesture.

"Please calm down, Mrs Dursley. As Rose said, we just want to know what's going on. You can understand. Imagine if you walked by and saw a baby on a doorstep."

Petunia sniffled and blew her nose into a pristine handkerchief.

"If-" she sniffled, "If you must."

"Thank you."

Rose shifted her weight and bounced the baby in her arms for a moment as the thin woman regained herself.

"Now, this clearly states that the child's parents died on Halloween. Could you please tell me what you know of what may have occurred."

"I don't know. Lily… She said her kind were having a sort of war. It would have been either very violent or extremely peculiar." Petunia took in a shuddering breath. "They… They have a way of killing a person without leaving any damage to the body."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor pulled a slender, black leather-bound volume from his inside coat pocket.

He flipped it open and turned to the middle of the book.

"I don't know! Before I married Vernon, our neighbours down the street turned up dead in their parlour one afternoon and my father – he was a pathologist – he said the bodies didn't look like there was anything wrong with them. Perfectly healthy aside from being dead. He said he couldn't find any medical reason why they should be dead."

"And Lily told you it was these mysterious thems."

"Y-yes."

"And where were your sister and her family living when you last spoke?"

A strange expression came over Petunia's face.

"I… I think it was a little village somewhere."

"Can you please describe them for me?"

The woman developed a bit of a pinched look to her already wan face.

"Lily's pretty, I suppose. Our parents used to joke I got all the womanly instinct and Lily got all the womanly looks," she sneered. "My height, green eyes, dark red hair. She always wears – wore – it down unless she was studying."

"And her husband?"

"Tall, thin. Dark haired. Nothing at all like my strapping Vernon. Unpleasant sort."

"Anything else?"

"I think he had dark eyes."

The Doctor nodded and sighed as he scribbled in his notebook.

"Why don't we all sit down? I really do want to make sure we understand the entire situation. If this is indeed your nephew-"

"I wouldn't know. I've never seen him. I didn't even know she was pregnant."

Petunia led the way down the hall and to the sitting room. She perched stiffly on a floral wingback chair and gestured shortly at the sofa. Rose and the Doctor sat.

"Well, before we get any further, Rose, how's he doing?"

"Not blue anymore. Not shivering. He could probably do with a hot water bottle, though."

"I'll not have it touching any of our things. His kind are poisonous," Mrs Dursley spat."

Rose's eyes narrowed.

"He's just a baby. How could you say that? He's probably your nephew, too!"

"As far as I'm concerned, Lily ceased to be my sister the minute she chose them over me. They're all monsters! You couldn't possibly understand!"

"Shush!" the Doctor exploded. "Rose, stop provoking her. You'll not change her opinion. And you, Mrs Dursley. Right now, I'm assuming you're a mostly innocent bystander in all this, but don't think, even for an instant, that I'm not intensely angry that a baby was abandoned here on your doorstep sometime last night."

The young man glared at her for a long minute, then shrugged out of his overcoat and jacket. He helped Rose unravel the baby from his blankets and re-swaddled him in the Time Lord warmed garments. He sniffled and whimpered in Rose's arms.

"Now. Mrs Dursley, we'll leave you to your husband and your healthy, not-orphaned son once you've answered my questions. I think it's time you explained what you mean about Lily's kind."

The woman leaned away from her interrogators. Her knuckles went white as she fisted the pale yellow fabric of her apron.

"You're not going to make me keep him?"

Rose snorted and the Doctor coughed.

"That'd be criminal. I'd never impose you on him."

"Then I'd like you to leave. I'm done talking to you. I didn't leave the boy there and I don't want anything more to do with him."

The Doctor squared his shoulders and frowned down at the woman.

"I want to know what's going on! If the letter's true, there are people out to hurt the boy. Who are _they_? What does your family have to do with the invisible war?"

"I don't know what you're talking about and you're not welcome to stay! Take the little beast and get out!"

Petunia rose from the chair and marched down the hall to yank open the front door.

Rose and the Doctor shared a look of incredulity.

"Mrs Dursley-"

A man, having heard the noise and recently vacated the shower, thundered down the stairs to join his wife in the hallway.

"What's going on down here?"

"They won't leave, Vernon! They're like Lily and they won't leave!"

The huge man bristled and shoved the Doctor with his meaty hands.

"You heard her! Out! The both of you– I won't have any of that unnaturalness in my house!"

"Doctor!"

He stumbled out the front door as Rose gave a yell. Vernon had grabbed her arm to forcibly escort her out the door.

"Let go of me you bloody ugly bastard!"

He did, and the Doctor barely caught her before she and a crying Harry tumbled over the front step as well. The door slammed with a bang.

"I hope it is true!" Rose shouted at the shivering number four pinned to the doorframe. "I hope it's all true and you get yours!"

"Rose."

"How can they just abandon family like that?"

"Rose, he isn't their responsibility."

"I don't care!" she shouted, turning to glare at him. "How can they just dismiss-"

The Doctor sighed and grasped Rose's shoulders lightly.

"They don't want our help and we can't make that choice for them. Let's tend to Harry, okay?"

"What do we do, Doctor?" whispered the blonde.

She cuddled the boy close and rocked him gently. He had started squalling so loudly his face was nearly purple.

"Hush now, Harry," the Doctor said as he took him from Rose's arms.

The baby wriggled his arms free of the layers of coat and grabbed tight to the front of the Doctor's shirt. He settled into sniffling and whimpering and making a spot of moisture on the Doctor's blue t-shirt.

"So what now?"

Rose kicked a pebble out of her way as she walked. They had left number four behind them to wander slowly back toward Magnolia Crescent.

"I'm going to do a few more scans and report him to social services."

"But you can't. He'll just end up in a horrible foster home."

"He's pretty young. He'll probably get adopted by a perfectly lovely couple."

They turned the corner onto Magnolia Road. A deep blue car sat parked a little haphazardly on the curb. The Doctor got into the back seat with the baby and Rose sat behind the wheel.

"Why can't we keep him?"

"He's not a pet."

"You let Mickey hang around and you won't let me have a Harry?"

"It's not him, it's just-"

"Why can't we confirm he's alone and adopt him ourselves?"

The Doctor frowned into the rear-view mirror as he buckled himself up and readjusted little Harry to sit in his lap. The little boy sucked several of his fingers into his mouth. Rose started the car and drove down Magnolia road to the main street out of Little Whinging.

"Our life is a little dangerous for a baby."

"His parents were murdered and the murderers want to kill him, too. We can protect him better than anyone."

"We don't know that for sure."

"That cut's deliberate and you know it."

"We're not even married. Isn't that what humans do? Get married first before they have and or adopt children?"

"You're not all human, and I'm certainly not traditional."

"We travel a lot."

"We'll buy him a car seat."

The Doctor sniffed the baby as little Harry turned to look up at him and babble half-formed words.

"He smells like talcum powder and honey," he commented idly. "And he says his mummy calls him 'Jemmy'."

"Are you sure you're not having me on? You can really speak baby?"

"It's not so much speaking as mild telepathy, really."

"After all this time I still haven't a clue what you're on about sometimes."

"So, you really want to keep him?"

"Don't you?" Rose smiled at him.

Harry-called-Jemmy burbled a series of 'ma's.

"So if his mum called him Jemmy, what'd his dad call him?

Baby Harry babbled some 'da's. The Doctor tickled his belly.

"Prongslet. Apparently his daddy was part deer. Huh."

The blonde laughed.

"So? What now?"

"I've got a theory, now. Proper one. For ten years there have been three hundred and fifty percent more cold-case disappearances and murders throughout the UK.

"Considering the advances in human technology should have been able to keep up with the average criminal, not adding in the abilities of Unit and Torchwood, then we ought to conclude it's either an exceptional group of humans involved, or someone not human.

"Add in the unexplainable weather and natural disasters in the past two years, and we've got to conclude there's more than just humans responsible for it."

Harry had curled up against the Doctor's belly and started sucking his thumb in earnest. The Doctor stroked his downy hair.

"So… There are invisible forces fighting each other with the humans stuck in the crossfire."

"Yes, exactly.

"But the baby," Rose frowned. "He's not-"

"No he's not _not_ human. Let's call him human, plus. There's something extra there. He's definitely generating a bit of what we've been tracing."

"So it still stands, though. He's in danger from not-humans or not-not-humans, and we're best equipped to protect him."

The car sped up as it joined the motorway toward London. She looked back at little Harry and a frowning Doctor.

"You said that no matter how long we live, you'll always regret abandoning me, right?"

"Of course. That's why the other me left _me_ with you."

"So you'd never want me to feel that way, right?"

"Yes," the Doctor sighed. He looked away from Rose's gaze.

"If we leave him, I'll never forgive myself."

The Doctor looked down at the tiny face and closed his eyes against the bright emerald stare focusing on his drawn face.

"Well, then, Rose Tyler, I think it's time I asked you a question."

"What question is that then?"

The Doctor dug into Harry's bundle of coats for a moment. He held up a small velvet box so Rose could see it in the mirror.

"Will you marry me?"

The tires screeched as they narrowly avoided the concrete median.

"Are you serious?" Rose shouted. "You had to ask me now?"

"Always. Will you marry me, Rose Tyler?"

"Seven years. Seven bloody years and you ask me while I'm driving down the motorway?"

"Shh. You'll upset him," the Doctor mumbled as the Harry wiggled. "Will you? I've been waiting for the right moment."

"You've been carrying around a ring in that coat somewhere for how long?"

"Since he left me here."

Rose smiled.

"But why? I mean, of course, yes, but why? We've been fine without so far."

"Well, if we're going to raise a baby we ought to give him a proper –"

Rose let out a whoop of joy.

"Oh my God we're getting married!"

"Well, that's what generally happens when a boy, well, sort of boy, meets a girl and-"

Honks and horns and cursing rang across the motorway as Rose skipped three lanes of traffic to pull off the nearest exit and stop, screeching, by a convenience store.

"Come here and kiss me!"

"Anytime, Rose Tyler."

* * *

**_5 November 2002_**

"What do you mean, you're adopting? You're not even married!"

"Yes, we're doing that, too."

Rose smiled again, and tilted her left hand to catch her ring in the light. It was a delicate thing. It looked more grown than poured or cut or molded. Tendrils of burnished gold metal wound around her finger in a narrow woven band to curl tenderly around a dark blue stone.

"But your little brother's just barely started primary school!"

"So I've had plenty of practice, mum. It's time. More than time. So will you or won't you?"

"Won't I what?"

"Help me plan the thing."

"Well of course I will so long as I get some real say-so."

"When have you ever not, mum?"

"So what's the baby's name again?"

"Harry James Potter, but we've been calling him Jemmy."

"And you just found him?"

"Yeah. Some bloody horrible excuse for a person left him on a doorstep. We just happened to be walking by and we saw him."

"Who'd leave him outside? It's November!"

"Yeah, I know. He was half frozen when we found him."

"And there's no family?"

"There's no record of him anywhere."

"So how do you know his name?"

Rose rolled her eyes and passed a wooden spoon to Harry, who sat on the floor with the pots and pans spread around him. He immediately went to work 'stirring' the pots with exuberant banging sounds.

"What the hell is that noise?"

"Sorry mum! Got to go!"

Harry went on making music. Rose smiled at him and went back to sonicking the cupboards within a toddler's reach locked.

"Wouldn't you know? The Doctor finally figured out a setting for wood. Or at least, wood with metal hardware."

Harry went on banging things.

"Rose? What in the world is that racket?"

The Doctor, clad in his customary blue suit and trainers, came around the corner. Harry babbled.

"Jemmy wants to know where the cat is. Do we have a cat?"

"No. We could get one. Baby boy and a cat. Sound's almost proper, doesn't it?"

"One mortal Time Lord, one beautiful blonde, one not _not_ human boy, and a cat. That's proper?"

"You know, Mickey told me your core trait was 'sassy' once. I think he's right."

"Sassy, am I?" The Doctor winked. "How's he doing?"

"Well, he's gone through several nappies, more than a few bottles, a jar of crushed peas, and a lot of Cheerios."

"I've finished toddler-proofing all the cabinets and cupboards, installed a baby gate, fixed a rolling and locking step for both sinks, set up a car-seat, built a play-pen-"

The Doctor took a deep breath and frowned.

"Why do you want to pen the baby?"

"Because there'll be times that we need him out of underfoot."

"Right, okay," he frowned and took a deep breath. "Put together a high chair, tied a swing up in the garden, phoned Mickey, went round to the neighbours for toys and books, and I may or may not have built a tree house."

The Doctor gave Rose a crinkly-eyed smile and a wink, twirled trusty screwdriver and sheathed it in his pocket. She rolled her eyes.

"What's he need a tree house for? He's not even two yet."

"Kids grow fast. Especially human kids."

"What about not _not_ human kids?"

"Well. He's a bit bigger than a human one-and-four-month-old, and he speaks better, but other than that I think he's still in the normal range."

"What else did the scans say?"

The Doctor's expression darkened.

"He's definitely a little generator for not-not-humany things. I'll be running a few tests once he's fully recovered from near-hypothermia and cranial trauma."

"Please, don't remind me. If I ever find out who left him there I'm going to ring their stupid neck."

"I'll help."

Harry stopped playing again to toddle over to the Doctor, who had taken a seat on a floor pouf by the kitchen entry.

"Spoon!" he merrily yelled.

"Yes that's a spoon, Jemmy boy. But what's it for?"

"Staaaaaaang!"

"Yes, stirring. Maybe you can help Rose and me stir up some kiddie cocoa later?"

"Babies can't have cocoa it's full of caffeine."

"Not real cocoa. Kiddie cocoa."

"If you say so."

"Co-co!" Harry squealed. "Mummy?"

His little face crumpled as he grabbed the Doctor's pant leg to steady himself. He bounced a little until the much bigger man pulled him up into his lap.

"Mummmm…"

"Sorry chap, she's not here."

Rose sighed and bit her lower lip.

"Mummy!" Harry wailed.

The Doctor gathered Harry to his chest. Rose joined them both to stroke the child's downy black locks as he dissolved into pitiful cries.

"I know, Jemmy. I know."

* * *

**_14 June 2004_**

"Doctor, what're you doing?"

"I dunno. I think I'm watching telly?"

"Well, there's a floating biscuit in here."

"What do you mean a floating biscuit?"

The Doctor poked his head around the sitting room wall, his eyebrows raised in bemusement. A chocolate chip biscuit floated out of the kitchen and past him into Harry's waiting hands.

"Ah. I see," the Doctor laughed, turning to plop himself down on the carpet beside the toddler. "What's up Jemmy?"

"I wann'd bis-kit," Harry said, smiling around his stolen snack.

"Yes, yes I can see that." The Doctor whipped out his screwdriver and hooted. "This is brilliant!"

"Did he do that?"

Harry giggled and wrinkled his nose as he finished his treat.

"Wanna bis-kit!"

"Sorry, Jemmy," the Doctor said, putting the device away again. "Can't give you one. You've got to get it yourself."

Harry frowned, his little pout puckering.

"No, don't look at me like that. You just got yourself one. Rose won't let me take one from the tin, so you'll have to do it again."

"Doctor, what's-"

"Hush. I want to see," he whispered as he adjusted the setting on the screwdriver.

It whirred and hummed as Harry screwed up his face until his cheeks flushed. A little clink sounded in the kitchen and another biscuit sailed into Harry's pudgy little hands.

"Aha! Oh this is wonderful! Molto bene!"

"Is he an alien, Doctor?"

"No, no. The scan says he's still human-plus. Still a little Time Lord-y. But what he's doing is grabbing electrons, accelerating them, and bending them to his will."

"He's controlling the electrons in the air to-"

"Sneak a pre-supper snack, yes."

"That's just-"

"We've a very talented son, Mrs Tyler."

"Oh, stop with that. Are you ever going to tell me your name?"

"Nope."

The Doctor popped the 'p' sound to make the word nearly two syllables long.

"It'd put the other me at jeopardy. You never know. Jemmy's capable of bending the very matter of this world to his will. Maybe people like him can read minds, too. Can't train you two to keep others out, so I can't say, sorry."

"The invisible war again?" Rose sighed. "I thought we were done investigating that."

"Actively, yes. Wouldn't want to risk our boy. Definitely something or somebody dangerous after the little guy, if we're to believe that letter."

"It's been years. If someone were after him, they would have shown up by now."

"Well our friends at Torchwood haven't seen anything around Number Four, but that could just be because they _can't_ see anything."

"Should we be worried?"

Harry laughed as his adopted mummy joined him and the Doctor on the sitting room carpet.

"We're parents. We'll always have to be worried. 'Till the day we're so old we wrinkle up and dissolve."

* * *

**_20 September 2007_**

Harry "Jemmy" James Potter Tyler stared at the toes of his shoes. Around him, adults yelled and panicked and yelled some more.

"Please, I-" he began again, for what felt like the hundredth time in a half hour.

"Mr Tyler, you will be quiet!" Ms Candice Ruth, the deputy head teacher of Homefield Preparatory School, commanded.

"Are Mr Tyler's parents here yet?"

"Yes, we're here!" Rose cried, bursting through the door to join the others in the office.

She waddled a little bit, one hand cradling her heavily pregnant middle.

A man in a long brown overcoat and a well-cut suit followed after her, carrying a rucksack over his shoulder.

"What's this, then? Why are you all intimidating my son?" she demanded.

"Madam-"

"Mrs Anderson, you've changed your hair," the Doctor quipped.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously and shifted in his chair.

"That's exactly what this is about, Doctor and Mrs Tyler," the sighed.

"Well, I think it's lovely."

Mrs Anderson gave a huff and crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's blue!" she shouted.

Rose glared at the woman as she pulled a thick azure plait over her shoulder.

"Yes, and?"

"And Mr Tyler is responsible!"

"I did not! I couldn't have! Anyway you were horrible to me I just wanted to play with Jenny and Micah, too!"

"Jemmy, sweetheart, please wait a moment," Rose said firmly.

"Excuse me, madam, but we have it on camera," Ms Ruth said, gesturing to a computer screen. "One moment, Mrs Anderson is reprimanding Mr Tyler for fighting with Mr Dursley, and the next, Mrs Anderson's hair goes blue."

"And you expect me to believe my son did that?"

The administrator shrugged.

"It's very obviously retaliation, believable or not."

"Ah well, then there's only one thing for it, isn't there?" The Doctor said, clapping his hands.

"What's that?"

"Is everyone involved in the incident here?"

Mrs Anderson frowned at Ms Ruth.

"We decided it'd be best if we kept this to ourselves at least until we sorted things out. The children think it was a joke on Mrs Anderson's part."

"Then this is an easy fix. Jemmy, darling?" Rose squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"Yes, mummy?"

"It's time for all of them to forget about this. And please, do turn her hair back to normal. And don't think this is the end of it."

Harry's toes tapped a surly tattoo against the polished wooden floor.

"Yes, mum."

There was a flash of light, a low whooshing sound, then a beat of silence as Rose and the Doctor moved to stand behind their son.

Mrs Anderson rubbed her forehead and frowned. Ms Ruth yawned and blinked.

"I'm sorry, what were we talking about?" she said.

Rose smiled politely.

"You were just letting us know Mr Dursley's been bullying my boy again, but you cut off mid-sentence. Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. I just wanted you to know, he's been warned twice before, so he'll be suspended as of Monday morning. Further incidents and he'll be excluded."

"Thank you so much," said the Doctor. "We do so appreciate you keeping us up to speed."

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor and Mrs Tyler. You're free to take Harry home for the rest of the day."

"Yes, I think we will," the Doctor frowned.

Harry followed his parents as they filed out of the posh office, down the hall, and to their little blue car parked a little crookedly by the curb.

The Doctor helped Rose into the car, who had a little trouble squeezing into the front passenger seat.

"I am ready to explode. I tell you I'm a freaking planet."

"It'll be any day now. Soon if we're lucky."

"I've been wishing it along, too," Harry said from the backseat.

Now free from the tender mercies of his teachers, Harry's mood had rather transformed in the short walk between the office and the car.

"Don't think you've gotten out of a conversation," the Doctor scolded. "We've spoken about your psychokinetic abilities before."

"I just wanted to play. I didn't mean to. He pushed me down and Mrs Anderson didn't see, and she started yelling at me, and then I accidentally made her hair blue."

"That's understandable, Harry, but Mrs Anderson wasn't outside of her rights to give you a talking to," the Doctor reminded him. "You've got to take the time to explain yourself without loosing your cool. That's for humans."

"Oi, your pregnant wife says you're on the sofa if you keep this up."

"Humans except for your mum, then."

"And please keep in mind we don't want or like wiping people's memories. We make Unit and Torchwood file paperwork whenever they do, so you have to be responsible," Rose said. "Rather we never gave anyone cause to forget in the first place."

Harry's head slowly drooped as his parents spoke.

"How come I'm different in the first place? I don't want to be like this. Nobody at school likes me because they think I'm weird."

"Harry James Potter-Tyler, I won't any of that," Rose said firmly as she reached round to pat him on the knee.

"Your mine and you're perfect. And just like the Doctor, you'll grow up someday and use your differences to help people."

"Flatterer," the Doctor quipped.

The car slowed.

"Why are we at the hospital?" Harry asked with a shy smile.

"Your mum's water's broken and she hasn't even noticed. Time to meet your baby brother or sister."

"I hope they like me."

Rose grunted as a nurse helped her out of her seat and into a wheelchair.

"Of course they will," the Doctor smiled as he slung the rucksack over his shoulder again. "You're going to be a big brother after all. And what do big brothers and little babies do best?"

"I don't know." Harry slid out of his seat and took the Doctor's hand.

"Love and care for one another."

Nine and a half hours later, Harry curled up on the large bed beside his mother, who lay, sweaty and exhausted, against several pillows. She held a tiny pink bundle against her chest, in which nestled a slightly red baby girl. Wisps of ginger hair clung to her head. Tiny, perfectly bowed lips made a little 'o' as her little hand clung to her big brother's finger.

"What's her name?" Harry whispered. "She's so tiny."

"We thought you could name her," the Doctor said.

A huge smile stretched across his face. He perched on Rose's other side, his chest puffed out, one hand stroking Rose's lank hair.

"Really?" Harry's eyes widened as he looked into the little face. "What about Jenny?"

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a look.

"My daughter Jenny?" the man laughed.

"Jenny Renette?" Harry tested the name and smiled. "Like Madame de Pompadour and Jenny from school. She's always been nice to me. And Madame de Pompadour was really powerful you said."

"Yes. But why would I want to name my daughter after a girl who kissed my husband?" Rose complained.

"Well, my baby sister should grow up to be really powerful, too, right? And kind."

Rose laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Jenny Renette it is. When did my six year old get so persuasive?"

"Daddy's teaching me," Harry told her.

Rose laughed tiredly and kissed the boy on the forehead.

* * *

A/N: Expect updates every Tuesday until further notice. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. I always love hearing your feedback.


	2. Owl Post

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: I had a comment about the writing style thus far. As you'll soon see, we'll settle into a more natural pace as the story picks up. Consider the previous section sort of an extended prologue to what follows.

* * *

Chapter Two: Owl Post

* * *

_**July 20, 2012**_

"Faster, Harry!"

A toy lorry zoomed through the air, skidding off the top of furniture and soaring high over breakables as a little girl with bright red hair and wild freckles urged it on. She ran around the edges of the room, over the carpet, and under her mother's reading hammock after it while Rose Tyler watched over the top of her laptop from her seat in said hammock at the corner of the living room. She winced as the yellow lorry executed a perfect dive and figure eight around the light fixture before rolling to a stop on the carpet. Jenny Renette cheered.

"Can you make me fly? Please?" she begged her brother, who sat cross-legged on the sofa.

The boy shot a look to his mother, who smiled indulgently as she snapped her laptop closed.

"Not in here, you can't. Remember the incident with the telly?"

"Yeah, but I'm much better at it now. I never drop anything anymore."

Rose sighed and stood to ruffle her son's impossibly unkempt hair. He gave her a broad smile that made his eyes twinkle with barely suppressed laughter.

"Fine. Outside though. Daddy's set up a perception filter around the garden, so you should be fine as long as you don't let her go too high. Over the swimming pool, please, just in case.

"All right, Jenny, let's go put on our costumes," Harry said, grinning as he took off up the stairs.

"No fair you got a head start!" she whined.

"It's not a race!" Harry yelled back, his voice echoing down the stairs.

A few moments later, two children barrelled down the stairs, Jenny in the lead, and out the sliding back door to jump noisily into the sun-warmed swimming pool. Rose followed them out with a paperback novel in hand to watch while Harry entertained his sister by levitating her a few feet over the swimming pool and dropping her back in. It did not take long for the game to devolve into a water fight. They screeched and giggled and Rose found herself reading less and less and laughing more and more, until she shimmied out of her jeans, unclipped her earrings, and hurled herself, screaming and still clad in a tank top and pants, into the water with them.

Whereupon, the water fight became an all-out war as squirt guns and pool noodles became a part of their respective arsenals. Eventually, Rose and Jenny teamed up (Jenny on her mother's shoulders) to attempt defeating Harry, who, outnumbered and outgunned, had resorted to using his peculiar ability to pummel his mother and sister with random jets of water pulled from all directions.

That is, until the owl arrived.

It swooped over their heads and circled the garden to land imperiously upon back of a wrought iron terrace chair.

The children and Rose stared.

"It's an owl!" Jenny cried. She swam to the edge of the pool to get a better look. "And it's got a letter!"

Her mother laughed.

"I can't believe it. It's just like before."

Harry frowned as he pulled himself up out of the pool.

"You mean you've seen post-carrying owls before, Mum?"

"Yeah. Just before we found you, actually. Told you we were expecting something odd this month."

"You and Dad investigate alien and paranormal activity," he deadpanned. "I don't know if I know what odd looks like."

Rose rolled her eyes and took the steps out of the pool, ringing out her shirt as she went.

"Are you quoting someone?" she quipped.

"Don't think so," he shrugged. "Jenny, don't mess with it!"

His sister paused at the edge of the terrace a few feet from the bird's perch and glared at her brother.

"I'm not stupid! I wasn't going to touch it."

"Oi. None of that, Jenny Renette," Rose scolded. "It's not nice to make mean assumptions. Your brother would never call or think you stupid."

The little girl pouted and turned her glare onto her mother. Rose did not quite manage to fight down her smile. The owl made an impatient screech at the woman, who still failed to take the letter (which it had shaken quite insistently) from its beak.

"But how can it be there? There's a perception filter, so anything smarter than bugs shouldn't be able to get in," Harry wondered.

Rose made a face and fumbled in the pockets of her discarded jeans to withdraw a silver metal card with a shining yellow light at one end. She fiddled with it until it emitted a whirring, humming sound familiar to both children.

"Is that a sonic-" Harry frowned and eyed the device. "-Scanner?"

"Your dad calls it a sonic spanner," Rose said dryly.

"Ha ha."

"Sonic spanner scanner," Jenny said matter-of-factly.

The owl looked on with an expression of clear boredom, having apparently dismissed the Homo sapiens before it as the inferior creatures they obviously were, considering the time it was taking them to accept the letter.

"Owl plus? That's weird."

The owl screed as if insulted.

"Fine. You want me to take it, hmm?"

As soon as Rose's fingers touched the letter's edge, the owl took off into the sky. They all watched it beat its wings against gravity until it caught an updraft and took off into the afternoon sunshine.

"I think I was just cheeked by a bird."

Harry and Jenny giggled. Rose smiled and turned the letter over in her hands. She held the sonic scanner's yellow end just above the letter's surface. Finding nothing worrisome, she turned to hand it to her son, who watched with clear curiosity on his open face.

"It's addressed to you, Jemmy."

Harry took the letter eagerly.

"What's going on?" Jenny asked. "Is there something wrong with the letter?"

"No. Just the usual weirdness that comes with being a Tyler, love," Rose said lightly. "Now why don't we get you dried off?"

Harry turned the post over in his hands as he read and re-read the address (Mr H. Potter, Second Bedroom, 45 The Gallop, Sutton, Surrey), and examined the green ink and red wax seal.

"Should-"

He looked up to find his mother on the other side of the garden, vigorously towelling Jenny's hair while the little girl giggled.

"Shall I go on and open it?" he called.

Rose swung her cackling daughter up into her arms to carry her upside-down toward the sliding glass door.

"Give us a little help with drying, first? This one's too wiggly for towels, and mummy's lazy."

The boy held the letter away, wrinkled his nose, and concentrated. A second later, steam rose from his trunks, skin, and hair. Another moment, and Jenny and Rose found themselves engulfed in a chlorine-scented cloud just before they stepped over the threshold.

Harry followed them inside once the steam cleared from his horn-rimmed glasses and hopped up on a kitchen barstool. Rose gave him a questioning glance. He sniffed the envelope, and then licked the wax seal.

"Ew!" Jenny laughed.

"I can't believe you picked up that habit," Rose complained.

Harry shrugged.

"Tastes like the air does when I do my psycho-telekinetic-whatever," he said as he ran his thumb over the raised seal. "We shouldn't wait for Dad?"

"He's with the Torchwood crowd in Dover until tomorrow, darling. We've been expecting something like this. Go ahead."

Harry nodded and slid his thumb under the flap of the envelope. The seal broke with a snap and he caught a whiff of old books, oil based ink, parchment, goose feathers, and–

"Cat?" he wondered aloud.

"Stop sniffing it and tell us what it says."

The young boy adjusted his glasses and pulled the thick letter from its uniquely addressed envelope.

"Hogwarts School of…"

Harry stared at the elegant script. He re-read it just to be sure, but no matter how many times he did, the wording refused to change.

"Go on then. What's it say?" Rose asked, excitement colouring her tone.

Harry looked up at his mother with wide eyes. Jenny bounced in her seat.

"What is it? What is it? Tell us Harry!"

"Hogwarts School of _Witchcraft_ and _Wizardry_," Harry breathed.

Rose blinked.

"What?"

"Harry's a witch!" Jenny crowed.

"What?" Rose gasped.

Another beat of silence

"Sorry, but, what?"

Rose shook her head and pulled a phone from her pocket. Her fingers flew across the touch screen, and she put it on the counter as the dial tone rang over the external speakers.

"Hello! Can't talk right now I'm-"

"Daddy," Jenny yelled, bouncing up and down by the counter. "Harry's a _witch!_"

"What?"

"Harry got a letter and it's from a school for witches!"

"What?"

Gunshots sounded hollowly over the speakers.

"Doctor?" Rose near-yelled, snatching the phone up again.

She brought it to her ear while Harry's brow furrowed.

"… You hang up right now and get the hell out of there!" she yelled. Then, "It can wait! He's fine!"

She leaned away from the phone as an ear-splitting squeal came out of the speaker.

"Ugh!"

Rose handed Harry the phone and she cursed under her breath as she stomped around the counter and to the stove. Her son looked after her with confusion clear on his face. His eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe.

"Just talk to your father. And tell him he's banned from the tree house when he gets back."

"Okay…" Harry put the phone to his ear. "Mum say's your banned from the tree house."

"That's not fair! Everything's under control, now. Sonic screwdriver always trumps guns."

Harry laughed.

"So what's it say?"

"Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. In parentheses it says he's an Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand – I guess that's short for sorcerer – Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Brilliant! Guess we know what human plus means, now," the Doctor said in a rush. "What else does it say?"

Harry read through the page once and flipped to the next one. His expression muddled as he progressed through each line.

"Why can't I just send you a photo? It's pretty unbelievable, anyway."

"Because it's more fun over the phone and I'm curious to hear your reaction. Send me photos later."

"If you say so," Harry shrugged. "It says 'Dear Mr Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the first of September. We await your owl by no later than the thirty-first of July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.'"

Harry took a breath. His face slowly spread into a tentative smile. Jenny still danced around the kitchen singing 'Harry's a Witch!' repeatedly while Rose dumped pasta into a pot of boiling water. She had stopped muttering, but now sent forbidding looks at the mobile. Harry shuddered to think what punishments she had in store for his reckless father.

"The second page is a list of equipment, books, and uniform kit. And apparently I can bring a pet."

"What sort of pet?"

"Owl, cat or toad."

"Well, wizards apparently send post with owls, so that'd probably be the best. Well, maybe not. I suppose they must have post offices if they have international confederations and schools, so if you wanted you could have a cat. I assume you don't want a toad, though I wonder what use they would be. Interesting, the types of pets allowed, might be significant," the Doctor rambled.

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Does it say where the shops are?"

Harry scanned the letter again.

"No. Just to send them an owl by my birthday."

"Hm. Well, I'll catch an early lift home. Put me on speaker."

Harry put the phone back on the counter and caught Jenny about the waist as she ran by. She giggled as he lifted her and set her on a barstool. He gave her a couple cloves of garlic to peel and got started on the rest.

"What now?" Rose sighed. "I'm trying to make tea."

She popped a tray of frozen meatballs into the oven as she spoke and started chopping tomatoes as soon as the door clanged shut.

"I promise everything's fine over here, so stop that. I'm supposed to be the rude one in this relationship. Anyway, that's _not_ what's important right now."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"Harry, do you want to have the most amazing adventure of our collective experiences?"

The boy looked up from his small pile of peeled garlic.

"Better than traveling through time and space in the TARDIS?" he asked dubiously.

"Well, _maybe_ not, but that's the beauty of this situation! It _could_ be. Back when your mum and I found you, I thought the readings we picked up looked Time Lord-y. For all we know, you could be a subspecies. Humans and Time Lords are DNA compatible anyhow, so maybe-"

"You think _wizards_ are part Time Lord?"

The incredulity in Harry's voice rang unmistakably.

"Who knows? Could be anything. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Harry looked at his mother and sister, both of whom watched him.

"Do you seriously think I'm a wizard or witch or whatever?"

"The universe is made wonderful by mystery, Harry. Science or magic – Same thing, different terminology and technique. Doesn't change who you are."

"So you think I should go?"

"There are some other things we want to talk to you about, first, but of course I do! It's a school, after all. How dangerous could it be?"

Harry looked at his mother, who met his gaze over the top of the counter. She gave him a nod and a small smile.

"Okay. I think I'd like to, if that's all right with you. It'd be nice to not be the hide my abilities anymore."

"Brilliant! Fantastic! Put your mum on and go help with supper."

Rose stepped forward and scooped up the mobile. Harry hopped off the stool and went to the stove while Jenny grabbed a head of lettuce and a hard plastic lettuce knife and began methodically shredding it into uneven bits of salad.

They worked – Harry excitedly and Jenny cheerfully – while Rose wove around them to handle the potentially injurious bits. Twenty minutes later, they sat around the table with steaming heaps of spaghetti on their plates. Jenny wore an apron and perched on an overstuffed cushion, as she was still prone to dropping things on herself and had not reached her next growth spurt, with her elbows on the table. Harry slowly twirled noodles around his fork and stared every so often at the letter, which sat innocuously in the spot usually occupied by the Doctor's place setting.

"Tomorrow, when your dad gets back, we're going to go exploring," Rose said between bites.

"Exploring where?"

"Torchwood has a cold case we're going to investigate."

Harry sat straight. Jenny concentrated hard on winding her spaghetti into a perfect ball at the end of her fork.

"A case?"

"There's a shop front south of Leicester Square. It's broken down, a complete dump, but it's owned and operated legally by a Dodderidge family since 1500. Its age should make it fall under the historic preservation laws, but it was never entered into the database."

Rose took a sip of wine and gestured for Harry to keep eating. His fork had paused between his plate and his mouth half a minute ago as his mother dropped into her story-telling voice.

"In the twenties and thirties, Torchwood had operatives watch it because they picked up on a perception filter over the area.

"The thing is, they couldn't look for very long. Their eyes would sort of slide off it, like they didn't _want_ to look. And they noticed people approaching the area empty-handed and coming away with parcels and bags. Occasionally, someone would appear from that spot."

Harry swallowed slowly. Rose took another bite of her supper.

"Eventually, Torchwood decided it wasn't hurting anything and left it be. But they never figured out what the perception filter hid."

She raised an eyebrow and Harry frowned at his plate as he contemplated the mystery.

"People disappear and appear or reappear with parcels. Can't look straight at it. You already said perception filter. It's probably set up just like the one here around a certain perimeter. From the comings and goings, it sounds like a hidden shop or something. Is that what you and Dad talked about?"

"That's right. We commiserated a little, and he suggested, since the Torchwood blokes didn't pick up on any alien tech, that it must be something else. He's never scanned it, but it could be human plus-y, just like you."

"Oh," Harry sat back a little. "So we're going to solve it, then? We're going to go see if it's a wizard thing?"

"Yes. And then your dad and I are going to see if we can't find other witches and wizards."

Jenny sat up taller in her chair and speared a meatball.

"I bet Torchwood knows some," she suggested.

"Probably," Rose agreed. "Knowing them they're just keeping mum to see if Daddy finds anything new."

She grinned at her kids and rolled her eyes.

Harry laughed.

"Why do they always make it a contest?"

"Contests are fun," Jenny Renette said as if it were obvious.

Rose shrugged.

"Because they thought he'd be less brilliant without the whole immortal thing."

The corners of her mouth twitched as Harry struggled to absorb that information.

"He's probably more clever than ever," he finally said. "You know, because he hasn't the time to not be."

"And don't forget it. I did a few times, and I still haven't heard the end of it."

Harry grinned and tucked into the rest of his food with renewed vigor. Tomorrow would be the start of his own adventure.

* * *

A/N: And there's the first real chapter. If you read the last one prior to last Wednesday, you may want to scan back through. I changed a few minor details in my last edit and failed to upload the right file when I published. It's correct, now. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. And please let me know if I mess up a Britishism. Britpicking appreciated.

Love,

Forensica X


	3. Gringotts

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Three: Gringotts

* * *

_**July 21, 2012**_

Harry Potter groaned and rolled over on his bed to squint again at the digits shining defiantly back at him from the screen of his alarm clock. It stubbornly read '5:45' a.m.

Which frustrated Harry to no ends, as his greatest adventure could not start until his mum and dad woke up, which, according to their normal schedule (and adding in the factor of the Doctor's absence the last few days) would not be for another two and a half hours.

In all, the situation made for a very impatient, very awake almost eleven-year-old boy.

He gave a long-suffering sigh and sat up to switch on his lamp and put on his glasses. The mysterious owl-posted letter sat upon the bedside table as a constant reminder of what was to come. He picked it up and read through both the acceptance and supply list again.

"Hope it's a big shop," he muttered.

"Wakeup Harry it's time to go!"

Harry yawned and sat up from his decidedly uncomfortable position half on and half off the bed. The Doctor stood above him with an almost mad grin on his face. His usually windswept hair had been styled into controlled waves and his suit looked off. It took a moment of concentration and another moment to clean the smudged lenses of his glasses before Harry quite comprehended what he was seeing.

"What are you wearing?"

The Doctor had foregone is usual blue suit for light khaki trousers, cream coloured waistcoat, white shirt, and a deep blue cravat in addition to his normal overcoat.

"I've been up researching all morning, looking at photos of the mysterious unwatchable spot off Leicester square. All the out-of-place people look like they're from the earlier part of the twentieth century, plus long overcoats, capes, cloaks or robes," he rattled off as he gambolled about the room.

The Doctor tore through the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, flipping through Harry's clothes in a rush. Once in a while he threw an article at the bed, where they narrowly missed hitting the groggy ten-year-old in the head.

"So we're going to dress like the mystery people?"

"Mystery wizards, if my hunch is right."

"Do I even _own_ anything like that?" Harry complained as he held up a pair of light brown pinstripe trousers.

The Doctor turned around, two capes in hand, one dark brown, the other pale blue.

"Shirt first, then trousers. Then waistcoat."

"Why can't we just wear normal clothes?" Harry asked while he pulled on the white collared shirt and did up the buttons.

"We've got to be incognito. We'll have a little chat about that on the way. Go on. Do you remember how to do the cravat?"

Harry gave his dad a look as he pinned the dark green fabric in place and tucked it into his waistcoat. The doctor waggled his eyebrows and held up the two voluminous capes. His son grimaced.

"Well," the Doctor shrugged, "Consider it the price for exploring wizard-space."

"Fine, then. The brown one."

"If you must. Allons-y Master Tyler!"

With that, the Doctor loped across the room and disappeared down the hall. Somewhere in the house, Jenny squealed in that shrill way only small children can, and Rose erupted in mad cackling. Harry shook his head, finished dressing, and went downstairs to find his oddball family gathered in the foyer.

His mother wore a pale ivory walking dress suit straight out of the 1910s, complete with cropped sleeves and white leather gloves. She even had her hair twisted into a low chignon. His little sister glared at the floor, apparently furious at her clothing. Either the Doctor or Rose had forced her into a white cotton and lace dress with a dropped waist, white stockings, and shiny black shoes. An oversized blue bow held back half her wavy red hair. From his position on the second to last stair, the tips of the hair accessory looked a little like kitten odd-coloured floppy animal ears.

"Well, at least I'm not the only one in fancy dress," he finally laughed.

"I rather like it," Rose said with a smile. "Though the corset is a bit tight."

"_I_ hate it," Jenny grumbled. "Why do I have to wear this stupid bow and this stupid dress?"

The Doctor scooped up his daughter in one quick motion and kissed her forehead.

"I think you look very pretty. And I promise you can take it right off as soon as we've had our adventure. You're under cover for now."

"Like a spy?" she frowned.

The Doctor laughed and tickled her under the chin.

"Exactly like a spy. So, for today, we'll call you 'Renette,' and your brother 'Jamie,'" he said. "And of course, your mum and me are still your mum and myself."

"And, Harry," Rose said in a quiet aside. "Go on into the loo and put in the contacts on the sink and dab a bit of concealer over your scar. And there's some pomade in the cupboard"

Harry nodded and ducked into the downstairs powder room to shed the last of his recognisable features. He even smoothed product into his hair until it lay neatly except for the one cowlick in the back.

"Very dashing," Rose approved when Harry re-emerged.

"Now is everyone ready?" the Doctor asked.

When no on protested, he led the way through the kitchen and to the small garage. Everyone loaded into the black luxury car and it was not long until they had driven down the drive and proceeded to London Road.

Traffic was dull and horrible. It was not quite the start to the adventure Harry had imagined. Jenny fell asleep with her head lolling against the seatbelt. But eventually, finally, the Doctor pulled to a stop in a multilevel car park in Chinatown.

"Why doesn't anyone ever comment on our weirdness?" Harry wondered aloud as they passed busy stores and shoppers.

He would have thought someone would comment on Harry's rather impressive cape, at least. Though they looked, they did not seem to notice or care. Rose gave a delicate shrug.

"Just walk like you own the place, darling. Works for your dad and me."

"What she doesn't tell you is she really does own the place," the Doctor whispered, leaning over Harry's shoulder.

They shared a quiet laugh. The Doctor led the way out of Chinatown and down Charing Cross Road until they stood just across the street from a grubby pub situated between a big book shop one side and a record shop on the other.

"Is it close?" Jenny asked.

Harry frowned and looked to the curious faces of his mother and father and his sister's unfocused gaze.

"You don't see it?" Harry asked, pointing at the pub.

"Just barely," the Doctor frowned. "Keep wanting to look off."

Harry grabbed Rose's hand to lead her forward.

"It's a run down old pub. Not a shop after all. It's called the Leaky-"

"Cauldron," Rose finished.

Harry looked up at her in surprise.

"I could see it as soon as you touched me. Grab your sister."

He did and Jenny's face wrinkled.

"I thought we were going shopping," she complained.

"We still might be," the Doctor said slowly.

He grasped Harry's shoulder and the family watched the pub for a few more minutes until, just as Harry had begun to loose hope in his adventure, a middle-aged couple dressed in similarly old-fashioned clothing and exited the pub. The Doctor rushed forward.

"Excuse me, sir, lady!" he called, his accent sliding smoothly into an Australian twang.

The couple looked up and paused on the sidewalk. Harry, Rose and Jenny followed at a more sedate pace.

"Can we help you?" the man asked with a politely bland expression.

"Yes, if you would," the Doctor went on. "You see, my family and I just moved here from Melbourne and we were told there was a lovely shopping area near here."

The man's face relaxed into an easy smile.

"Oh, you're looking for Diagon Alley!" he turned to gesture at the pub. "It's right through the Leaky Cauldron. You go through to the back and count the bricks over the rubbish bin. It's three up, two across from the centre. Just give it a tap with your wand and there you go!"

The Doctor grinned and extended his gloved hand. The other man shook it genially.

"Thank you so much."

"Anytime, sir."

Harry nearly bounced in excitement as the man and his wife strode away. Rose gave him a light pat on the shoulder and took the Doctor's arm as he loped toward the entrance to the dingy little pub.

A hum of carefree chatter, swirls of multicoloured pipe smoke, and smells of hot meat pies and potatoes filled the air inside the dim little place. A very old man with no hair and equally few teeth stood behind the bar cleaning glasses as he spoke to a miniscule man in a top hat. The other patrons sat in alcoves around the perimeter of the room and at the long scrubbed wooden tables occupying the centre of the room. Old women in veils drank little glasses of slightly steaming liquor. A very pale and thin man slowly nursed a glass of what looked to be blood.

"Is that a vampire?" Jenny asked in a stage whisper.

The man sent her a baleful glare.

"Don't be rude, Renette," Rose reprimanded.

"But are you a vampire?" the Doctor asked as they passed the gentleman in question.

He glared again.

"Rude."

But Rose's comment fell on deaf ears as the Doctor made his way to the bar.

"Hello, there, sir," the Doctor said, taking a seat on a swivelling, sparsely upholstered barstool.

"Good morning," the bartender answered. "Is that an Aussie accent I hear?"

The old man looked the family over as they all took seats at his bar.

"Indeed it is. Just moved here with the family. I'm afraid we haven't breakfasted, yet. How about a little brunch, Mr…"

The bartender smiled toothlessly and put away his rag. He drew a thin piece of wood from his apron along with a pad of paper.

"Tom, sir. Just Tom. Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. What'll you have?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tom. What's on?" Rose asked, without attempting any sort of accent.

"Steak and ale pie, prawn sandwiches, pasties, pea soup, and roast hen."

"I'd like a prawn sandwich, please," Jenny told him.

Tom smile indulgently and poked the pad of paper with his stick. Ink shot across its surface.

"Would you like a butter beer with that, dearie?"

"Butter beer?" Rose raised an eyebrow.

The bartender laughed and opened a bottle of honey-gold liquid and popped a straw into it.

"Do try it. It's fine for kids."

Rose sipped it and smiled broadly.

"Oh, that's delightful! Go on, Renette," she said. "One for all of us, please. And I'll have your roast hen. Do you have chips?"

"Sorry, dear, I don't make those. But we've got mash if you like."

"Yes, please."

The bartender turned to Harry and did a double take.

"You look very familiar, young man," he said with a frown. "What did you say your family name was, Mr…?"

The Doctor extended his gloved hand.

"Sorry, dear man. How rude of me. I'm John Smith, and this is my wife Roselyn, and these are our children: Jamie and Renette."

Tom gummed his lower lip and screwed up his face.

"Any relation to the Smiths of Exeter? Old Lady Hepzibah's family?"

Rose and the Doctor exchanged a look and the latter schooled his face into a thoughtful look.

"Maybe. We could very well be related, my great grandparents emigrated so long ago."

The old man gave them all another toothless smile.

"Well, we're certainly pleased you're back. You've a very handsome family, sir."

The Doctor and Rose nodded at the compliment and the bartender turned back to Harry.

"Now, young master, what would you like?"

Despite the shabby and grimy look of the place, Tom's cooking turned out to be quite good. Harry watched in wonder and delight as the old bartender directed their levitating plates, laden with heaps of food, to their places. The wonderful flavour almost managed to distract him from the other patrons, the dishrag that kept wiping glasses even when Tom was not holding it, and the soot-darkened paintings throughout the room that moved every so often.

When the butter beer had been drunk and the plates had sailed away to plop quietly into a waiting basin piled with foam, Tom slid them a bill printed on a slip of thin parchment.

"Ah," Rose said lightly. "Tom? Do you accept the Queen's sterling?"

"Muggle money?" the man frowned. "Just this once. Usually, I'd need you to nip over to Gringotts to change it, but you seem like the right sort, Madam Smith."

Rose grinned and blew Tom a kiss as she counted out more than enough notes.

"Oh, thank you. There's a bit for you, too."

Tom bowed.

"You're too kind, Madam. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The Doctor dabbed his mouth with his napkin and grinned.

"We were told we could get to Diagon Alley through here. Do you mind showing us?"

"Of course, sir."

Tom shuffled out from behind the counter and led the way through the tangle of chairs and patrons out to a small, walled courtyard. Sparse weeds sprouted here and there amongst the rubbish bins on either side of the east wall. The stooped old bartender drew his wand and tapped the brick just up and over from the biggest bin. The brick twitched, waggled and wriggled until it folded out of sight, leaving a square hole in its place. The other bricks spun away from the hole until, to their amazement, an archway spread large enough to admit the whole family at once.

The bartender bowed again, and a moment later they stepped through the archway onto the cobbled street that wound out of sight.

"Wonderful," the Doctor breathed. He glanced around and pulled out his screwdriver to take a few readings. "Brilliant!"

Harry gave a short laugh.

"Wizards are real," he said slowly. "Wizards are real and they have secret streets hiding behind secret pubs all over the world."

The Doctor hooted and ruffled Harry's hair.

"It appears so. Now, incognito. No more sonic. Let's find this Gringotts place. Sounds like a bank."'

They set out down the street four-abreast, their eyes everywhere. A shop selling sparkling cauldrons with a sign proclaiming their various properties was the closest. They passed apothecaries advertising dragon's liver and ashwinder scales, shop windows full of flying brooms and equipment for a sport called quidditch, and a pet shop called Eyelops Owl Emporium with stacked cages of exotic owls and other creatures stacked neatly by its door. There were book shops, quill and parchment shops, shops toting robes of unimaginable colours and textures and abilities (temperature adjusting, self-cleaning, water-resistant, colour-changing, self-sizing) – Shops selling everything anyone ever imagined in stories about witches and wizards, and even more that no one ever could.

"Amazing," Rose whispered.

"Brilliant," Harry agreed.

Renette's red hair whipped to and fro as she tried to absorb her surroundings while she skipped between her mum and dad.

"Can I have a wizard-y toy, Daddy?"

"I think the word is _wizarding_, darling. Wizarding, wizardry, witchery, witching…"

Rose laughed.

"Wouldn't that be _be_witching?"

"You're bewitching."

"Charmer."

"Look there. Bank's a bank in any culture."

They had reached the front steps of a towering white structure that loomed grandly over the other smaller buildings to its left and right. Burnished bronze doors guarded its entrance, and on either side of it stood what appeared to be a little man with long pointed ears, very long feet and fingers, a keen, dark face and a pointed beard. They stood nearly a head shorter than Harry and only a few inches taller than Jenny, who looked on in open curiosity. Each of them bore a long, wickedly sharp poleaxe, but these weapons did not deter the Doctor.

He raced up the steps, bowed to one of the little men, and immediately began speaking in a harsh, rasping language. The guard frowned and spoke back after a moment while Rose, Harry and Jenny looked on. They went back and forth for several minutes, until both erupted in laughter. The little man's laugh sounded like a cheese grater on wood.

"Right," the Doctor said as he turned around.

"Master Goblin Rax Needleblade here kindly offered to give us a hand in finding our way around Gringotts."

"Anything for a Lord of the Old Magic," Rax Needleblade said with an unnervingly sharp-toothed grin.

The Doctor smiled and offered Rose his arm again as the guard led them on through a second set of doors. It gleamed solid silver in the glow of sunlight and words scrolled across its face:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"What's that mean, mummy?" Jenny asked as the doors slid smoothly shut behind them.

The goblin chuckled.

"It is warning to thieves, child," he explained. "Once you cross the threshold into Gringotts Bank, you fall under Goblin jurisdiction. Wizards and witches may not use their wands here to cast spells, and those who commit crime here are met with Goblin justice."

Jenny shuddered and stared around her with wide eyes.

"Fear not, child. Your parents have taught you not to steal, and so you never shall."

"Doctor," Rose whispered, "Do you know their species?"

"Yes, of course. They came to earth when the moon fell into its orbit, just as the Silurians first went into hibernation. People think the moon formed from the debris off a collision early in the Earth's formation but really, it was a dwarf planet that formed just outside the Earth's orbit. The Goblins lived under the surface of the moon, but as they started orbiting our planet, they decided to jump ship, enjoy the sunlight, breathe open air."

"Wow," Harry said. The story lent even more wonder and mystery to the cavernous structure, which seemed bigger on the inside now that they stood beneath the soaring ceiling of spun, glowing crystal.

"And then the humans evolved. They were cruel, mindless creatures who raped our cities and killed our mothers and babies. Few mothers remained, and so we went underground to cultivate our magicks and to protect the remainder of our race."

Rax paused as they reached a teller's counter. The goblin sitting there exchanged greetings with the guard before waving him off.

"We thought there would never be an end to the darkness, for despite our efforts, our numbers never grew greater than a sixteenth of theirs," the teller said, picking up the story. "And then an impossible being wandered into our home under London. She looked human, but had two hearts. She carried a power we had only heard legends of, from the time we lived upon the face of our Mother. She and her human lover weaved new life and new ability. They mated with the humans and the original witches and wizards were born. We learned from each other for a great while.

"We developed warding schemes, many of which shield us from muggle view, and tamed the great beasts that ravaged the world. We hid the great cities of wizard, dwarf, and goblinkind. It is upon this foundation the modern world of magic stands."

The Doctor's smile nearly split his face in its intensity. He bent to grasp Harry's shoulders and look into his face.

"I didn't know that story before we came here today – wonderful bit of history, that – but I recognized the species. We got to talking, and it turns out I was right. You _are_ Time Lord-y. Part Time Lord part human. Science and mystery woven into a wonderful boy."

"So…"

"Here's the best part though. The goblins told me the name of the Lady who came here. One upon a time, Gallifrey was ruled by a woman. Pythia. At that time, our abilities, our manipulation of the time vortex, of the world around us, was a little more mystical. She held the belief that we should be spiritual firsts before scientists or students. Her sister disagreed. Aspasia thought it shouldn't matter what approach we take, so long as we have the freedom to explore on our own. She was a true wanderer through time and space, and she used her exile to venture beyond the limits of the universe. Eventually, Aspasia returned to Gallifrey, just as the last great Time War began."

"Aspasia was my mother. So, technically, we're related by more than familial bond."

Harry's eyes widened as the Doctor's eyes danced with merriment. Rose and the goblin teller shared a sympathetic smile. It took a long moment before the almost eleven-year-old could manage working his mouth again. His father seemed to understand, and pulled him into a hug to stamp a kiss on the top of his head.

Rose cleared her throat.

"We're making a bit of a scene," she said quietly. "So, Mr –" she paused as she read the nameplate. "Mr Daggertooth, we should probably do some banking business to make them stop looking."

The goblin grimaced.

"Yes. Wizards and witches have become overly nosey these past several centuries," Daggertooth sighed. He surveyed the family before him over his steepled fingers.

"I could change some of your muggle sterling for Gringotts coin, but it may not be necessary with a descendent of Aspasia among you," he said, focusing on Harry's upturned face. "I can see the muggle lenses over your irises, but I recognize that face and cowlick if not your eyes."

He leaned over the edge of the gleaming counter to whisper to his human clients.

"You look like a Potter."

"Do… Do I have any other family?" Harry asked in a hush, glancing at his mum and dad out of the corner of his eye. "I don't want to live with anyone else, but I'd like to know…"

"It is my regret to inform you that you are the last of the Potter line, child." The goblin leaned away and sighed, "However, your mother and father left behind more than a genetic legacy in you. There is an expansive vault, a trust fund, and several family heirlooms awaiting you."

"I sense a but. Never met one of those I liked," the Doctor quipped.

The goblin grimaced as if he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Indeed," the goblin continued. "But, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot sealed the final wills and testaments of your honourable mother and father before proper custodians could be assigned. The Chief Warlock was declared your magical guardian as of the thirty-first of October the two thousand and second year. Such a position includes material stewardship."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Rose crossed her arms under her bust.

"So any withdrawals notify some daft old man?"

"You're acquainted with him, then?"

Rose shared a look with her husband.

"Anyway, I just thought you should know. I am unsure why he did what he did, but he is the leader of Wizards."

"Thanks for letting us know," the Doctor said genially. "Let's go ahead and visit this trust vault, if that's alright.

The Goblin nodded and rifled through his desk to withdraw a thick stack of parchment.

"Please sign and initial each form, child. You, too, my Lord."

While her brother and daddy began working through the paperwork - Would wizards call it parchmentwork? – Jenny commenced her own exploration of the banking floor.

It felt larger than any bank she had ever been in, and her mother had shown her the skyscraper banks in London. 'Someday you'll have enough money to invest it with them, and you'll never have to worry about funds, ever,' she had said. Jenny had an excellent memory.

She amused herself by pacing off the large square marble tile beneath her feet. Then she counted how many slabs tiled the main floor. After that, she counted all the lamps, but she had to stop because she quickly realized some of the glowing things in the ceilings and walls, and floating over her head, may not necessarily be used just for lighting purposes, at which point she began counting the different types of potential light sources. She was almost at the point of getting bored (a feat, considering the sheer diversity and number of glowy things) when the goblin teller finally took the parchment back and stamped them with a wax seal.

"Very good. My Lord, madam, young master and miss, please follow Mr Griphook to your vaults. Please let me know by owl if there is anything further I might assist you with."

The Doctor snarled an apparently friendly goodbye in the goblin language and executed a curt bow. The family followed suit before the goblin called Griphook made himself known.

They were led through a soaring marble archway, down a velvet-carpeted corridor, and around a corner. Griphook held open a nondescript wooden door and Jenny looked around in surprise as they left the rich scarlet carpet behind them.

"Stalactites!" she chirped, pointing to the ceiling above them.

Millions of pointed, softly glistening spikes hung suspended over their heads. Rough stone made up the walls and floor of a narrow passageway, only broad enough for two people to walk in comfortably. Little metal rails trisected the floor.

"Careful or they'll impale your weak little human body," Griphook sneered before loosing a shrill whistle.

Jenny shrank against her mother's side and Rose glared at the banker as if he should expect one of the stones to pin him. Harry tucked his chin and played with the cuff of his jacket to hide his smirk. A faint metallic rattling announced the approach of a cart, into which the Goblin ushered them.

"Are there seat belts?" Rose asked the Doctor as Harry and Jenny slid into the front seat.

The Doctor rubbed his seat with the pad of his thumb and licked it.

"Restraining field. No one here legitimately can leave their seat without meaning to."

"Handy, that."

Griphook climbed in last to stand at the head of the cart and it lurched into motion.

Harry and Jenny let out twin whoops of excitement, and soon both the Doctor and Rose had lost all sense of restraint, too. It was faster than any amusement ride they had ever ridden. The cart shot off and up and over and down and around and sideways. It skid, screeching, around corners, rode impossibly steep slopes, and executed loops all while it wound its way deeper and deeper under London. The ride ended sooner than the children wanted it to, and too slowly for the Goblin, who had clapped his hands over his ears at the first shouts.

He glared at them all as they left the cart with wobbly legs and windswept hair.

"Vault six hundred and eighty-seven," Griphook grunted. "Your key, please, Mr Potter."

Harry handed the little bronze key over. The goblin twisted the key twice in the keyhole, and the vault's door opened with a groan and quite a lot of green smoke.

"Oh my God," Rose gasped as the noxious clouds cleared.

Piles, heaps, stacks of gold, silver and bronze coins filled the broad, deep vault

"Your current balance is forty-one thousand galleons, sixteen sickles and twenty-eight knuts."

"And what's that in pounds sterling?" Rose asked while Harry scooped handfuls of the coins into the drawstring bag Daggertooth provided.

"There are nearly five muggle pounds to every galleon."

"That's more than two hundred thousand," Jenny exclaimed, having recently conquered mental maths with single digits, with or without zeroes attached.

"Well, Jemmy," Rose laughed. "You get to pay for our next holiday."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read and review. Okay, I lied again. This story is demanding to be written and I feel badly for sitting on an excess of three chapters at once. So, until my pace slows, I'll just post them as I finish them. After this first burst of manic obsessive energy goes away, expect updates every Tuesday.


	4. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Four: Diagon Alley

* * *

_**July 21, 2012 (Continued)**_

Harry and Jenny enjoyed the trip back up through the tunnels beneath Gringotts even more than on the way down – they went faster. By the time they breeched the surface and rolled to a screeching stop in the corridor the Doctor had proclaimed the 'launch pad,' their goblin guide, Mr Griphook, had thoroughly lost his patience with the supposedly wizard family.

He clutched his pointed ears as the humans filed back down the corridor and out of Gringotts altogether.

They stood on the top step of the grand bank for several minutes, blinking into the afternoon sunlight. While their clothes had escaped all except a few drops of moisture, their hair, as a collective, had never been more windswept. Except for Rose, their heads looked unkempt to the extreme: all tangles and blown back disorder.

"That was fantastic," The Doctor crowed. "Brilliant! Really brilliant!"

Harry laughed as he attempted to smooth his hair back into some semblance of regularity.

"So what now?" he asked. "I think we've proven beyond a doubt this is really happening. What's next."

Rose smiled and straightened from helping Jenny with untangling her hated bow from her hair.

"I think you need the tools of the trade, if you want to go to Hogwarts in September. Let's start with a wand, then we'll get everything else."

The Doctor took off down the street before Rose could finish her suggestion.

"This way, Smiths! Alons-y!"

Back down the street they went. Really, the wand shop did not seem very impressive compared to its neighbours. Its window display was obviously old and very simple, containing only a small, faded purple pillow upon which a single wand rested. The letters proclaiming the shop's name were peeling in gold flakes. A little bell tinkled somewhere when the Doctor led them inside the tiny shop. There was only one spindly wooden chair, which Rose immediately claimed as her own with a grumble about her "Damned shoes."

Jenny laughed at her mother's sour tongue.

"No cursing," the Doctor reprimanded.

Harry and Jenny stared at the narrow shelves crammed behind the shop's counter. They seemed to expand endlessly back, all stacked to the ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes.

"I think this shop's bigger on the inside," Jenny whispered.

The back of Harry's neck prickled. He stuck out his tongue as far as it would go and inhaled.

"The air here, it tastes…" he frowned as he sought the words, staring between his mother and father's curious faces. "It's like, what I've been doing is just a measly sugar packet, and this place is a cake factory."

"I really wish you and your dad would quit that," Rose sighed.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said.

A very old man emerged from the shadows behind the counter and gave them a short bow. His moon-like eyes rest a moment on all of them before stopping on Harry.

"Mr Potter," he said with another bow. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon."

He said the words like a fact of life, expected and waited for patiently as a happy eventuality. Harry straightened as the Doctor came forward to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you for your welcome. Are we acquainted, Mr..?"

"Ollivander," he smiled vaguely and looked again to the Doctor and Rose's faces. "And these are?"

"My mother, Rose Smith, my father, John Smith, and my sister, Renette," Harry said quickly.

"Strange. I sense magic about you, Mr Smith, and you, Miss Renette. And yet I do not think either of you a wizard or a witch."

"Don't worry about it, Mr Ollivander," the Doctor dismissed with an easy smile. "Shall we get on with the wand choosing?"

The wandmaker's jowls quivered.

"Of course. It is the wand that chooses the wizard, however, so it may take some time for the right one to find young Master Potter. Please, do, sit."

Ollivander drew his own wand and two more spindly chairs materialized out of thin air. The Doctor and Jenny sat, leaving Harry to stand awkwardly in the middle of the shop. The wandmaker had retreated again behind the counter, where the shadows did not seem so dark anymore. He climbed a rickety ladder and began pulling boxes off the shelves.

"You know, it seems only yesterday your mother and father were here buying their own wands," he said as he magically propelled his rolling ladder beyond view. "Your mother's was ten and a quarter inches long, fashioned from the branch of a three hundred-year-old willow. Very swishy and excellent for charms work."

The old man rolled back into view, clutching a veritable stack of potential wands for Harry. Another pile floated obligingly in his wake and followed the wandmaker as he dismounted the ladder and came around the counter.

"Your father's however," he said as he opened the first five boxes, "was better for transfiguration. Pliable young mahogany of eleven inches. Full of power and potential for change."

"Do you remember all of them, sir?" Harry asked quietly. "Or just my parents?"

"Oh," the wandmaker said a little wistfully. "I remember all of them. Every single one I've ever sold, including the one that gave you that scar, I'm sorry to say."

The room seemed to drop into a deeper quiet as everyone looked between Harry and the frankly creepy old man.

"A most regrettable affair," Ollivander murmured, his gaze far away. "But!" He clapped his hands. "Perhaps with the right match you can overcome even that. Please, give this one a try. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. "

He held out a wand. Harry took it, focused, and gave it a wave. The quills sitting on the counter burst into flame.

"Oh dear, no," the wandmaker said, shaking his head at the smouldering remains of his pens.

"Er- Sorry," Harry apologized lamely.

"Never you mind. Let's try…" the wandmaker held his hand over several of the wands on the counter and stopped at a light honey-coloured wand. "This one. Maple and phoenix tail feather, seven inches."

But as soon as Harry's fingers touched the handle, the man whipped it out of his grip with a shake of his head.

And on it went. Wand after wand after wand until a small pile of discarded sticks lay in a pile on the countertop. Harry had grown increasingly frustrated, and Jenny had complained more than once about boredom. It went on until all the boxes the wandmaker originally pulled lay forgotten, and the old man wandered amongst his shelves muttering to himself.

"Tricky, tricky," he called from somewhere in the depths of his shop.

It was definitely bigger than it should be.

"But worry not…"

There was a soft shuffle and a clunk.

"I wonder… This one's holly and phoenix feather: An unusual combination. Eleven inches and very supple."

Harry shifted from foot to foot. The prickly feeling got worse as the wandmaker made his way back to the front of the shop. He held a box almost gingerly in his hands. It was covered in dust, apparently forgotten at the back of the shop, and Harry could feel it humming with that previously unidentifiable feeling he now understood as what wizards called magic.

Harry held out his hand and the top of the box flew off. Its contents, a light, almost cream-coloured wand with a carved, graceful handle, jumped to meet his fingers. Harry's hair stood on end and his cape billowed around his shoulders as a fountain of gold sparks spewed from the wand's end. The Doctor clapped and grinned from his seat and Jenny cheered.

Ollivander stared.

"Well, well," he said quietly. "Bravo. Bravo indeed, Mr Potter. And how very curious."

Harry looked up as his mother sent the old man a glare.

"Sorry, but what's so curious?" she said a little peevishly. "All due respect, Mr Ollivander, but I'm a little put out at your manner toward my son during this experience."

The old man's pale, bushy eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe. He held up his hands in supplication.

"My apologies, Madam. I know I'm a little eccentric, according to my few remaining family members. But you see, everyone knows your son. And despite the minor notice-me-not he's cast around your family, anyone with real eyes to see would recognize him, even without the scar, glasses, and green eyes."

"And why is that?"

Ollivander frowned as he waved at the remaining wands. They began sorting themselves back into their boxes and shuffling toward the shelves.

"Why, because he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course."

Harry felt as if he had accidentally swallowed an ice cube whole. The Doctor's previously curious features settled into worry.

"That sounds ominous."

"An ominous title for an ominous person. We do not speak his name. Once, at the height of his powers, he invoked the power of that time to summon his agents to whomsoever spoke it. Those who dared-" Ollivander shuddered delicately. "Well, they were lucky if we never heard from them again."

"And if you did?" the Doctor asked more quietly.

Ollivander searched their faces with wide, helpless eyes. He smiled gently down at Jenny's frightened face.

"It's better to not say. But don't worry. It's why your big brother's famous," he continued. "One night, the Dark Lord failed in that which he had succeeded so many countless times before. He attempted to harm Harry Potter, and when the night was over, the Dark Lord's corpse smouldered in the ruins of Godric's Hollow, and Harry Potter survived."

Jenny twisted the hem of her dress.

"So he's really gone? This Dark Lord person?" she asked in her high little voice.

"Unequivocally," Ollivander assured her.

The wandmaker began bustling around his shop, setting it back to rights as Harry and his family exchanged worried looks and silent messages.

"Now," the old man said, turning back to them with a black velvet bag and the wand box. "In here, you'll find your standard wand maintenance kit and a dueller's standard wand holster. It isn't included in your supplies list; however, I highly recommend it as it will protect your wand from summoning except by your signature, as well as any physical damage it may otherwise suffer in your pockets."

Harry nodded as Mr Ollivander dropped both parcels into a black paper sack. He handed Harry the holster to strap to his forearm beneath his sleeve. The wand slid smoothly into it until just an inch or so of the handle stuck out.

"It'll be ten galleons and twelve knuts for the lot, Mr Potter," Ollivander concluded as the last of the mess cleared away.

Harry rummaged in the little Gringotts pouch to withdraw the correct amount. He grabbed his things and turned to leave, only to be stopped at the door as the Doctor grabbed his shoulder. Rose and Jenny looked at them curiously from the street.

"Mr Ollivander," the Doctor said, barely loud enough to be heard. "Why did you say the wand match was curious?"

The old man stared at him with his luminous eyes and gave them both a sad smile.

"Usually, the animals that give me the materials for the wand cores only donate one feather, hair, or heartstring. Over half a century after I made it, on the very night the yew-and-phoenix-feather wand gave you that scar, the same phoenix appeared to me and gave me another feather. A powerful core for a powerful wand, one which you now possess."

Ollivander shrugged.

"Strange, isn't it? An odd coincidence."

The Doctor nodded, thanked the old man, and shut the door to lead Harry out into the sunshine of Diagon Alley to stand beside his mother and sister. They quickly came to the consensus that some ice cream was in order, after which they decided to go to the trunk shop so as to have transport for Harry's many future purchases.

Harry took a bite out of his overlarge chocolate and mint chunk ice cream cone and winced as the cold attacked his teeth. His sister, apparently, felt no pain, and her sticky-covered face attested to that fact. She looked more purple – Lavender and dream flavour, Mr Fortescue, the shop owner had said – than pink and red.

"It is just a coincidence, isn't it?" Harry asked with little hope as he watched his dad attempt to sonic loose the sticky mess.

Rose smoothed Harry's hair gently and gave him a bit of a hug about the shoulders.

"You're too smart to believe in coincidences."

But, even the foreboding shadow of his new knowledge of his birth parents' murderer could not subtract from the wonder that was a magical shopping centre. No one forgot, but it was hard to stay wary when everywhere, something amazing was happening.

Harry found a trunk that held four different compartments with four separate locks. Each lock, positioned on either side of the handle, corresponded with a hidden section of the trunk, which, when opened, only showed one section at a time. It was, as Harry previously thought, impossible, but then the doctor explained –

"Bigger on the inside with a omni-spatial dimensional trigger. Really, it's four compartments occupying the same space at different times. Really, truly beautiful."

At which point, the Doctor shook the shopkeeper's hand rather vigorously and begged to be shown the other amazing trunks. This led to the purchase of the exorbitantly priced Everything Trunk, which displayed four drawers for clothes when stood on one side, a full closet when propped open in another direction, and a walk-in study and lab when opened from yet another side. The last side apparently triggered an unending bookshelf.

Rose and the Doctor were infinitely amused. Jenny begged to be taken to Hogwarts in the study and lab. Fortunately, however, the shopkeeper and trunk-maker overheard and warned them that any living thing with a vascular and skeletal system could not be sustained inside the trunk space unless it was the primary owner, which would be Harry.

Next came Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where the entire family was kitted out in the best of Wizarding wear. Jenny, The Doctor, and Rose got several casual, business and formal outfits while Harry stood under the tender mercies of Madam Malkin herself and her automatic measuring tape. He, to his unending frustration, had to choose an entire wizarding wardrobe, right down to his pants and socks.

Thankfully, Jenny's cuteness distracted the female assistants from Harry's fitting enough that he did not feel the urge to blush as he was stripped and dressed and stripped again for his mother's apparent amusement.

They left the shop with Harry's purse considerably lighter than when they entered it, and proceeded to the rest of the shops. They purchased a cauldron, scales (which the Doctor promised to tinker until they were as exact as the expensive digital one in his own lab), quills (which Rose promised to match with a set of fountain pens), several feet of parchment (which Jenny said were fairy tale-y), a set of crystal phials (at the suggestion of Mr Mulpepper the potions master and apothecary owner for their durability and preservation qualities over glass), and a standard potions supply kit.

The trunk came in handy with its feather-light charms and seemingly unending space providing easy storage for all their purchases. They went from shop to shop, taking their time amongst all the wonderful things, until only two shops remained.

"Books and pet. It's nearly four so they're probably going to start closing up if they haven't already," the Doctor said. "Rose, Jenny, why don't you two go pick out an early birthday present for Harry. We'll tackle the books."

"Dad, you don't have to-"

"Shush. We changed some pounds for a reason. Besides, I love surprises."

Harry rolled his eyes and waved his mum and sister off while he and his dad went into Flourish and Blotts booksellers.

They quickly went to work exploring the rows and teetering stacks of books, only to discover, to their absolute horror –

"It's not organized!" a voice complained almost shrilly.

Harry whipped his head about.

"Not by subject, not by colour or size, not by the dewy decimal system, not by call numbers or by subject. Not even alphabetically or by author!"

"Hermione-"

"But how am I to find my books?"

Harry poked his head around a corner to find a very obviously distraught girl with very bushy brown curls. Her mother sat nearby atop a school trunk with a weary look on her own face. Harry eyed them for a moment, debating what to do, then remembered rule one: Always help if you safely can.

The girl called Hermione looked up when he cleared his throat.

"I can help you, if you like," he offered with a smile.

Hermione blinked and chewed her lower lip.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you," she said at last, in a rush. "It's just-! Well, I'm new to all this, and it's been such a whirlwind of a day, and Professor McGonagall just left us after she showed us which shops to visit, and I was _so_ hoping wizards and witches were just the same as everyone else except for a few extra talents, but it seems I…"

She trailed off and smiled. Usually people cut her off at that point, but the boy just smiled patiently and waited for her to finish.

"I'm beginning to understand how wrong I was to think so. Magical Britain may as well be a separate country."

Harry nodded.

"Yeah, my dad warned as much. He figures it's been separated since around the Magna Carta. But, you know, anything that doesn't make sense to those of us who grew up in the modern world is just adapted to their special way of thinking."

Hermione blinked at him.

"You mean you're not a pureblood wizard?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Are you telling me there's race politics here?"

"Sort of," she admitted with a slight smile. "Someone I met earlier was a little rude about it."

"Well, I don't think I am. My parents just made me wear this to blend in. And I'm Jamie Smith, by the way."

Hermione extended her hand.

"Hermione Granger," she said with a bigger smile. "And this is my mum, Jean."

"Pleasure to meet you both." Harry rubbed his hands together and eyed the bookshelves. "So what do you say we find our books. First year, right?"

Hermione watched in amazement as the boy screwed up his face and his hands and somehow _summoned_ the books she wanted to her. They flew, trembling, from the shelves and zoomed around them to form a neat stack on top of her trunk. Half of them sorted themselves into a stack at Harry's feet. Then came the special requests. Someone in the shop shouted different titles at Harry, and they would join his pile, too. Hermione put in for copies of the ones that intrigued her, and even more of those they had not thought about. In the end, they both had a small personal library to call his and her own, respectively.

"All done?" the Doctor asked as he wondered around the corner, carrying a boxed set of books under his arm.

"Yep," Harry said with a grin. "This is Hermione and her mum, Jean Granger. I was giving them a hand, too."

"Good job. Ready to go?"

"Yeah. Let me just say goodbye."

The Doctor nodded and wheeled Harry's books and trunk away to pay for everything, leaving an astonished Mrs and Hermione Granger in his wake.

"That was incredible!" Hermione gushed. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Harry cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure, but I guess I could try. I'll look for you on the train?"

Hermione smiled and engulfed Harry in a hug.

"Please, do. And thank you ever so much!"

Jean Granger smiled gently.

"Yes, thanks for your help today, Jamie."

"It was my pleasure. See you on the express, Hermione!"

Harry rushed to join his family outside the shop. The sun had sunken lower in the sky, just far enough that the tops of the tallest buildings surrounding the Alley cast long shadows over the cobblestones. Rose and Jenny sat at one of the tables outside Fortescue's ice cream parlour with a large covered object between them on the table. The Doctor nearly buzzed with excitement.

"Did you find all your books?" Rose asked as soon as he came close enough.

"Yeah. Schoolbooks, history books, culture books, primers, etiquette books – if it looked useful, we bought it. Made a new friend, too."

"Oh?"

Harry nodded.

"Another non-wizard raised kid like me."

The Doctor sighed and ruffled his hair.

"I doubt there's any non-wizard raised kid alive quite like you."

Harry fought the burn in his ears and cheeks. Jenny smacked his arm.

"Ow! What's that for."

"You're taking too long to open your present," she said as if it were obvious.

Harry rolled his eyes, but pulled the fabric cover off their latest purchase, anyway. Beneath, a finely worked cage glinted in the late afternoon sun, and inside, a beautiful white owl with amber eyes and a finely curved beak blinked up at him. She chirruped and Harry grinned.

"Wow!" he laughed as the owl cocked its head at him. "What's its name?"

"It's a 'she' and we thought, since it's your present, you should name her."

Harry poked a finger through the bars of the cage to stroke the owl's head with a fingertip. The owl hooted appreciatively and leaned into his touch.

"I'll have to think about it and find something good."

* * *

A/N: There have been a couple questions regarding the pairing. It's a surprise, sorry. Don't expect anything concrete just yet. They're only eleven. Wait till they're older to draw any conclusions. You can, of course, speculate in the meantime.


	5. The Hogwarts Express

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all. Oh, and buckle in. This is a long one.

* * *

Chapter Five: The Hogwarts Express

* * *

_**September 1, 2012**_

Harry watched as Hedwig took off on yet another long flight. For a newly purchased post owl, Harry thought she must have had more exercise than all the other owls put together southwest of London. The Doctor had seen to that. Not that Harry minded, really, because he had been curious, too, but Hedwig eventually became tired of the experimentation and let her master's father know. Rose and Jenny had laughed at that, and the Doctor still bore a few scratches.

Still, The Week of the Owl Tests (as Rose dubbed it) did shed light on some things they had wondered about:

1) Post owls were magically evolved forms not equal to the average owl

2) Post owls could fly anywhere faster than it should have been possible

3) Post owls find post recipients with minor telepathic links with other birds and their humans

4) Post owls are extremely intelligent creatures with a wide emotional range - Or at least Hedwig was, since they did not get the opportunity to test other owls.

These conclusions led to more questions related to human wizard and animal relations, which resulted in a spontaneous trip to the London Zoo, where Harry became the lab-rat. Of course, the Doctor controlled the experiment as he understood and communicated with animals quite well, but even he was shocked when they happened upon the reptile house.

It seemed snakes did not have to be magical to use verbal language, although the Doctor's readings of Harry during his conversation with the Brazilian python seemed to show a wizard _did_ exert magic to speak with them. And although the Doctor's scans seemed conclusive, he still insisted on a research trip to Diagon Alley, where they cleared the shelves of all the books relating to snake language, or Parseltongue, as they found it to be called.

There had been experiments related to potioneering, to spell-casting (with and without Harry's new wand), to transfiguration (which was quite different than spell-casting), to etiquette (because as Rose pointed out, some things went out of fashion and the only way to know was through testing), and to Time.

One of the books they had bought in their original trip into Flourish and Blotts alerted them to the existence of time turners, which set the Doctor off on the longest rant Harry had ever seen.

Best of all, Harry had finally learned the details of what happened to his birth parents. But, the knowledge came at the price of many hours searching through books and books of misinformation and hearsay. He found the children's series written about his adventures especially entertaining and heartbreaking when he realized how wizarding children would see him when he arrived at Hogwarts.

He even learned about wizard politics and researched the mysterious Albus Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock and Hogwarts Headmaster who seemed to have so much sway in his life. His mum had nearly exploded when she realized the very same wizard must have written the letter assigning Harry's care to the Dursleys.

It had been a very long several weeks. From the moment they arrived back home, they started studying. Harry began with laws and customs and worked his way through every subject they purchased, sometimes three books a day, until he knew all the material backwards and forwards. It was so much, he almost regretted having a Time-Lord-turned-human for a dad, because all the speed-reading and mental cataloguing techniques came from him.

So, when the morning of September first finally dawned beautiful and clear over his house on The Gallop, Harry felt both excited and relieved.

He dressed quickly in the clothes he had laid out the night before: Khaki trousers, dark green waistcoat and burgundy bowtie with a darker burgundy, almost brown, long-hemmed coat and a khaki cape clipped under the collar of the jacket. Harry pomaded his hair into order, popped in his usual clear contacts, stored his glasses and pyjamas in his trunk, and slipped the heavy parchment ticket printed in gold and green ink into his breast coat pocket before going down to breakfast.

"Morning," he called as he walked through the kitchen to deposit his trunk in the garage.

Rose gave a vague sound of greeting and flipped the bacon. She was not a morning person. Jenny sat at the table, her hair still in plaits from sleeping, stirring her cereal in slow circles. She did not look at Harry when he sat down beside her and pulled a piece of toast toward him. He set to buttering it liberally and dipped a corner directly into the orange preserves.

"Where's dad?" he asked after he had taken a bite.

"Tree house."

"Is he coming to breakfast?"

Rose shrugged and turned to bring a platter of bacon and eggs to the table.

"He'll probably forget. Why don't you take your breakfast and his out there and make sure he eats something."

She gave him one of her Looks and Harry complied without comment. He heard her speak in low tones to a suddenly sobbing Jenny as he went out the sliding door to the garden.

Climbing the ladder up to the tree house was a challenge with a plateful of eggs, bacon, and toast in hand. Still, he managed to make it without falling or dropping anything, so Harry considered it a success even if the eggs we cold by the time he reached the top.

"Dad?"

Harry opened the door to find his father sitting in a beanbag chair and staring at a photograph.

"Hello. Up already?"

"It's past eight. Mum made us some breakfast."

"Now I know she's taking it hard."

"Taking what hard?" Harry sat beside the Doctor's beanbag and started munching on the bacon.

It was a little too crispy, as it always was when Rose cooked. He smiled a little at that.

"She's going to miss you. We all will," the Doctor said softly. He showed Harry the photograph he held.

A younger, blonder version of his mum and his laughing dad looked out of the photo at him. They held a little boy with a lightning bolt scar between them. The baby looked both surprised and happy, with a wide smile and wider eyes.

"That's you just after we got the adoption paperwork taken care of. I've never been happier."

"Even happier than when you realized you and mum could be together?" Harry asked softly.

"Happier," the Doctor confirmed.

Harry suddenly felt the need to scarf down another two slices of bacon. His dad cleared his throat.

"We love you, Jemmy. We're going to miss you like crazy. For all I've said and how excited I've been for you…" the Doctor sighed and wrapped Harry in a strong hug.

"It's killing us that we can't go with you. It's more than just boarding school, and we can't be there if anything happens."

Harry could not help sniffling once, though he did refuse to cry.

"I'll be back for Christmases and Easter, and when I'm a third year we can meet up at Hogsmeade."

"I read the books too, you know," the Doctor retorted. "Doesn't make it any less difficult to see your kid off for the first time."

"I'll write all the time. At least once a week."

The Doctor patted him on the back and ruffled his hair. He did not say anything more as they finished their breakfast. It was a comfortable quiet, though, if not a little wistful. When they finished, they climbed down the ladder together to join Jenny and Rose in the kitchen.

Rose had abandoned her dressing gown for another walking suit and a new outer robe from Madam Malkin's. Jenny sat, dejected and pouting, in yet another frilly dress.

"Are we all ready?" the Doctor asked, adjusting his tie.

"I think so," said Rose. She glanced at her watch. "Let's go, then."

They arrived at King's Cross Station a little after ten o'clock and decided they should have a cup of tea before Harry had to get on the train. But this presented them with the unusual problem of finding _where_ the train was supposed to be.

Harry had not actually looked at his ticket beyond reading the 'Hogwarts Express' part before that morning, but now, standing between platforms nine and ten, he started to feel a little anxious.

"It must be like the entrance to the Alley. You've got to know the secret to get in."

"Yes," the Doctor agreed. "But there's not even a space to put anything here. There's just the barrier and the other two platforms."

Rose frowned.

"Did you see that?" she said suddenly.

Harry whipped his head around to stare again in the direction of the barrier. His mother stood near it, her eyes fixed at the solid brick wall.

"What was it?" the Doctor asked, sonicking the air.

"A woman and her daughter disappeared, just there," Rose gestured to the barrier.

Harry put his hands to it. It seemed solid enough. He pushed, testing it.

And then he almost fell as the Doctor charged past him and the brick seemed to dissolve under his hands. He landed in a heap beside his dad beneath a wrought-iron archway upon which a sign labelled 9 ¾ swung in a light breeze.

A huge scarlet steam engine belched clouds of smoke over the heads of hundreds of people – very small children, parents, and Hogwarts-bound students – as they mulled about the station platform. A few stands sold food, tea, and trinkets along the other side of the platform. Someone seemed to have set up a complete teashop beneath a purple and gold marquis.

"I love magic," the doctor enthused. "Come on, let's get mum and Jenny."

Mother and sister collected, they made their way to the marquis to sit at a spindly little table and sip hot tea while they watched the crowd swell as the clock inched toward 10:30. Harry felt anxious, just sitting there and waiting. At 10:45, he finally stood up.

"I think I should get going," he said a little stiffly.

He tried not to stoop as Jenny gave a loud sniffle.

"Stay safe," Rose whispered in his ear as she wrapped her arms around him.

Harry hugged her back, enjoying the brief smell of home that clung to her.

"Remember the rules," the Doctor said softly, coming in for his own hug.

Harry nodded.

"Help if I can do it safely, never walk away because it's easy, don't accept anything at face-value, and always be kind," Harry rattled off. "I know, Dad."

Jenny burst into tears and it was all Harry could do to not cry with her. He suddenly felt very, very young and very, very lonely.

"I don't want you to go," she wailed. "Who's going to fly me around and play detective with me and walk me to school?"

Harry bent to hug his baby sister. She threw her arms around his neck and clung as if he would disappear.

"Mum'll take you, and I'll write you every other day, and I'll still be here to play with you at Christmas and Easter and any other time I can come home."

"But that's so far away!"

Harry hugged her tighter and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"It won't seem very long once term starts for you. Besides, you're so smart you'll be going to boarding school once you're eleven, too. So, eventually we had to change things up a bit. I promise it won't be so bad."

"You'll forget about me and it won't be the same when you come home!"

Harry breathed in slowly to fight the prickling in his eyes. His little sister always had this effect on him.

"Jenny Renette, I promise you I'll always be your best friend and you'll always be mine. I'm your brother so you can't get rid of me. I will never, ever, ever forget you, and I will never, ever, ever, _ever_ love you less."

Jenny pulled back a little to stare up at him with teary eyes.

"You promise?"

"Yeah. I'll even write it out and send it to you on a piece of Hogwarts stone, if you like."

"And you better get me a really good Christmas present."

"I promise."

The Doctor cleared his throat.

"Alright, Jemmy. You better be off."

Harry nodded and looked to the clock. It was 10:50. He looked back to his mum, who had also started crying, and his dad and sister.

"Love you," Harry said softly.

Before anyone else could hug him or he – God forbid – started crying, too, he turned and rolled his trunk to the train.

Harry almost regretted waiting so long to board. All of the compartments in the carriage were full, so he had to go on to the next. Almost at what he was sure had to be the end of the train – because it could not just keep going, could it? – Harry finally found the compartment he had hoped for.

He knocked on the door and Hermione Granger's face broke into a wide smile as soon as she opened it.

"Harry!" she said a little breathlessly. "I was hoping you'd come by. Come in! This is Neville, by the way."

She gestured to the round-faced boy seated by the window. He gave Harry a shy grin and rose to shake his hand. Harry took it and grinned back.

"Neville Longbottom. Need help with your trunk?"

Harry gladly wheeled the thing forward so the other boy could grab one end.

"Thanks. It's feather-light, but it's still bulky."

Together, they hefted it into the overhead compartment. Hermione shut the door again and sat across from the boys while they took their seats.

"And I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, as if the trunk's presence hadn't interrupted their introductions.

Hermione shot him a look.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I was trying to go incognito until we got here. You know, famous and all."

The girl had the grace to blush and give him a wry smile.

"I suppose I forgive you. You _were_ ever so helpful at the shop. I was just telling Neville."

The round-faced boy reddened.

"Yeah. It's sort of, well, amazing that you can do so much wandless magic. It's really something!" he half-mumbled.

Harry's eyebrows rose.

"Really? I guess I quit or people are going to start believing the stories." He shrugged. "I thought it was normal because I've been doing it since I was really little."

Harry fought the urge to laugh.

"But then, I've never really had a great grasp on the concept of normal."

Neville blinked and shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, it's one thing when we're little. It's called accidental magic, but most kids grow out of it as they get older. Only really powerful wizards can intentional magic without a wand."

Harry contemplated that for a moment and frowned.

"But that doesn't make any sense. Mum said the first time I did it in front of her, I stole a biscuit from the kitchen. Levitated it into the sitting room. I probably really wanted one, so doesn't that make it intentional?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth as her expression cycled from curiosity to confusion and back again.

"Mum said they started encouraging it once I started that. By the time I was eight I could levitate up to a piano without dropping it. And I figured other stuff out, too. Like drying things, summoning things, lighting fires, fixing things. I even managed to teleport once. My sister ran into a street after a ball and a lorry almost hit her, but then we were both on the other side of the street just like that."

Harry snapped his fingers for emphasis and smiled. Neville stared and worked his mouth again.

"Well, I guess… I don't know. Maybe you're just really powerful. But if all wizards could use wandless magic all the time, they would, wouldn't they?"

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe they just don't know they can."

And so started a debate on whether or not wandless magic was possible for most wizards, which only ended when Harry dared the both of them to try it sometime. Neither could levitate anything in the compartment, but Harry still didn't give up.

"It took me until now to have the type of control over it that I do. You should keep trying. If, at the end of the year, you haven't managed even a little, I'll buy you both a heap of chocolate frogs."

"Deal!" the other two agreed.

The train continued winding its way slowly toward their destination, the topic to which their conversation turned. They compared their knowledge on the subject eagerly. Hermione, like Harry, had read several books about Hogwarts, but Neville had some first-hand knowledge about the school.

"Everyone in my family's gone, so I've heard some stories. Also, my gran was on the board of regents until a couple of years ago."

"So are you Augusta Longbottom's grandson?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Neville blushed.

"Yeah, sorry. You were probably expecting otherwise. I don't think I inherited many of the Longbottom family traits," he said, his chin slowly sinking toward his chest.

Harry clapped his shoulder.

"Not at all. It's no surprise, considering how nice you are. I just wondered because I've been through a bunch of society books forward and backward in the last few weeks."

"What for?" Neville asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious. Of course, it probably was, to her. Still, Harry admired her for suppressing her urge to answer.

"Non-wizard raised, remember? I just found out my parents were a witch and a wizard in July. I had to look them up in a book to learn about them, so when I found out they were peers," Harry shrugged. "It was just natural to learn how a wizarding peer of the realm would do business."

Harry winked at Hermione.

"_That_ was an interesting experience with my grandpa, let me tell you."

Hermione obligingly asked the obvious question.

"Why? Who's your grandfather?"

"Pete Tyler."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and her mouth opened and closed several times. Neville just looked between the two of them with a bewildered expression on his slightly pudgy face.

"Who's Pete Tyler?"

Harry tried hard not to laugh. This was just too much fun.

"British President.* Kind of like the non-wizard minister for magic."

"Wow. I didn't know the muggles had one of those."

Harry's grin faded immediately.

"What do you mean? Of course they would."

He looked to Hermione, whose face held similar traces of distress. Neville shifted nervously in his seat and shrugged helplessly.

"We're not taught much about muggles, except how to escape them and contact help if we accidentally do magic in front of them or if we're attacked."

"I mean-" Harry paused to shake his head clear of the indignation quickly gathering there. "I _know_ the wizarding and non-wizarding world are separate out of necessity, but how can you not know _anything_ about us? I mean, how many wizards are there in Britain?"

Neville frowned and puckered his face a moment as he thought.

"I _think_ Gran said the populations somewhere around 14,000 wizards and witches, including the ones not yet admitted to Hogwarts."

Harry and Hermione shared a look while Harry started on the mental math.

"Neville, non-wizards in the UK outnumber wizards forty-five _thousand_ to one."

The boy gaped.

"Do you see why I think it's a little odd wizards don't know anything about them? You are still _British_ after all."

Hermione bobbed her head in silent but vehement agreement while Neville shook his head in amazement.

"And I think a lot of the prejudice I've already seen probably comes from ignorance," Hermione said. "Muggles have done a lot, even without magic. They've even flown to the moon."

"The moon? Really?"

Neville leaned forward as Harry and Hermione began taking turns explaining the wizless (as they got tired of saying non-wizard) world. They even started having fun with it. Harry and Hermione taught Neville how to play poker and black jack, and Neville taught them exploding snap. During their third round of poker and on their ninth topic shift concerning the wizless world, the door clattered open and a stranger walked in.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?" asked a red-haired boy with innumerable freckles. He dragged is tattered trunk forward. "My brothers kicked me out."

Hermione frowned, as the boy had already entered the compartment without their permission, but said nothing as Harry looked him over.

"Sure. But do knock next time. What if we were all girls and we were changing or something?"

The redhead flushed maroon.

"Sorry about that. It's just," he flushed darker. "I really hate spiders and my brothers and their friend were taunting me with this great hairy tarantula. I just needed to get away. And a lot of the upper-years don't like firsties."

Harry smiled and held out a hand to help the boy with his trunk.

"No worries. Just keep it in mind in the future." Harry grunted as they struggled to push the trunk up into the overhead rack. Its feather-light charms, if it ever had any, were long since dead.

"Thanks," the redhead said gratefully. "I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger," Harry said, pointing to himself and his friends in succession. "All first-years."

But if Ron Weasley heard the rest of the introductions, he did not show any indication, for as soon as Harry said his name, the boy stared and his mouth dropped open. Harry frowned when the expression lingered through the rest of his sentence and stretched awkwardly into the silence.

"Do you have," Ron dropped his voice into a whisper. "You-know-what?"

Harry looked to Neville, leaning away from the interloper.

"Is this how everyone's going to be as soon as I introduce myself?"

Neville could not help but laugh.

"Yeah. Sorry. The wizarding world's sort of mad about you."

"It's been _ten years_," Harry complained. "And I was a baby. It was probably something my mum and dad did before Voldemort even got to me."

Neville shuddered delicately and Hermione made a small "eep" sound. Ron paled several shades.

"You can't say You-Know-Who's name. It's a jinx."

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest as he took his seat again. He really had begun to hate that idiotic title. He would not admit the small shiver he felt starting at the top of its spine whenever it was mentioned. The Doctor had said it had to do with the power of a name, especially one unsaid. It was like acknowledging an extra power beyond what a name should normally possess.

It was the type of fear that went into the Master's title.

As it was too late to expel Ron from the compartment without a good reason, Harry felt he was justified in going about other methods to maintaining his mood. And, he had no compunctions about making the interloper feel uncomfortable.

"Why? It's just a name. He's dead." Harry shrugged and took a deep breath. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort in pink knickers, Voldemort. V-o-l-d-e-m-o-r-t, Voldemort."

Ron looked rather green. Even Neville, who had started out wincing at the beginning of Harry's miniature rant, now seemed on the verge of hysterical giggles. Hermione had already reached that point as soon as Harry said "pink knickers."

Harry grinned.

"It's a stupid name, anyhow. It means 'flight from death' in French. He was just a man if he was so afraid of dying."

Ron did not respond. Harry, Neville and Hermione resumed their games. They had almost got comfortable ignoring their fourth compartment-mate – almost – when the door slid open a second time.

A boy with a pointed, pale face and fine features. Like Harry, he was dressed in a fine-cut suit of vaguely Edwardian origin along with a tailored outer robe. Harry took all this in with a glance from the corner of his eye, choosing rather to continue his game than to acknowledge further rudeness. But then the boys hulking lackeys shouldered their way into the compartment with the blonde one between them, and Hermione visibly twitched.

Rule number six: try not to be rude unless someone's in danger.

Harry thought perhaps "threatening" was close enough to qualify.

"Is it-" the blonde boy began, but Harry cut him off.

"You are intruding with neither introduction nor invitation upon the companion of the scion to the Noble and Most Ancient Potter line and that of his friends," Harry said formally without looking up from his hand. "Get out before I show you why _I_ remain."

Hermione, Neville and Ron stared. The boy gulped, turned on his heel, and left the compartment with his bookends in tow.

"That was _wicked_," Ron gushed. "Did you see Malfoy's face? It was all green like someone kicked him in the stones."

"Excuse me?" gasped Hermione, scandalised.

Neville laughed.

"That was really cool," he agreed. "How'd you do that? Malfoy always messes with me at social events."

Harry smiled.

"My mum and dad just say to act like you own the place, and it convinces everyone else that you actually do."

Neville didn't look convinced.

"So, urm, you were talking about muggle sports earlier?" Ron started, his face the picture of shy hope.

Harry grinned.

"Yeah. Do you know any wizarding sports?"

Ron lit up and leaned forward.

"You have _got_ to know about quidditch to be a proper wizard."

* * *

_**Five Hours, A Dozen Chocolate Frog, Several Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and Four Pumpkin Pasties Later**_

Harry craned his neck to look up at the sparkling castle towering over the cliff above him and received a reward in the form of a heavy vine hitting him in the face.

"Sorry!" Neville whispered. "I thought you'd duck."

Harry rubbed his slightly reddened cheek.

"No, I deserve it for not paying attention. This place is _beautiful_."

Hermione caught his eye and grinned.

"I can't believe we're actually going to learn _magic!_"

"Neither can I," Neville muttered.

His shoulders hunched forward and remained so as the boats pulled into the gravelly bank and the students, following Groundskeeper Hagrid, made their through the heavy castle door and up the stairs to meet Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall in the reception room. Everyone spoke all at once. And all of them seemed worried about the sorting, including Hermione, Neville and Ron.

"I hope I've studied enough-"

"Gran'll be so disappointed if I'm a Hufflepuff-"

"Weasleys haven't been sorted anywhere but Gryffindor in three generations-"

Harry tried to fight down the anxiety rapidly building in his chest. It was ridiculous, really. How much could it matter?

"So what's the big deal with the four houses?" he finally asked, half to distract his new friends and half to distract himself.

"Aside from what I've already read," Harry said quickly at Hermione's expression.

"Oh, well, Gryffindor's supposed to be for the brave and true at heart, Hufflepuff's for the hard-working loyal, Slytherin's for the ambitious and strategic, and Ravenclaws for the true academics."

"Yeah, but Gryffindor's the best," Ron added. "And Slytherin's full of potential dark lords and You-Know-Who's followers' kids. The whole lot's rotten."

Neville nodded a little hopelessly.

Harry thought about that a moment.

"So, reckless, power-hungry, or book-worm."

Ron and Hermione looked scandalised. Harry grinned.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'll take a loyal mate any day."

Neville beamed and Hermione got a shrewd look on her face, but didn't say anything. Ron grumbled a little poor-spiritedly to himself.

Harry adjusted the silver clasp on his new Hogwarts robes and nervously smoothed his hand through his hair. It felt okay, styled as it was, but the back still stuck up at an odd angle. Hermione braided her hair back into an endearingly messy fishtail plait and attempted to straighten the pointed black hat she wore.

But then, a new distraction arrived in the form of twenty ghosts sailing through the back wall.

"Beautiful!" Harry nearly shouted amidst the startled screams. "What have you read about ghosts, Hermione?"

The girl worried her lower lip for a moment.

"They're an impression of a wizard or witch's magical core after he or she departed this world. The soul goes on to wherever they do, but it's said that if a wizard had unfinished business strong enough to anchor an imprint of his magic, the result would be a ghost."

Harry grinned.

"I have _got _to tell my dad about this."

Hermione smiled.

"Is he a paranormal enthusiast?"

Harry smirked.

"Sort of. I suppose it's not an inaccurate description."

His new friend seemed to absorb that for a moment.

"What exactly do your parents _do_?"

"They're sort of special detectives, I guess you could say."

"So they're police officers?"

"No," Harry laughed. "They're freelancers for whoever needs their help. They've worked with the government, with the police, with other governments. I helped, sometimes, if I wasn't at school, but usually I just looked after my sister."

Both Neville and Hermione got a wistful look to their faces.

"How old's your sister?" Ron asked. "I've got five brothers and a younger sister. She's coming to school next year."

Harry felt a little guilty at that. He didn't think Jenny would ever get to see Hogwarts except in his letters, unless the Doctor came up with something even more extraordinary than usual.

"Jenny Renette's five. She was really upset when she realized she couldn't come with me. We've been best friends since she was born."

"Yeah, Ginny cried, too," Ron said a little gloomily.

"There's always letters," Hermione said quickly. "And wizarding photographs move! Maybe you and I could go in together for a camera so my parents could see Hogwarts, too."

Now that was an idea. Harry gave her a quick hug.

"That'd be brilliant. Thanks, Hermione."

"Move along now," a sharp, Scottish voice rang through the reception room. "The sorting will begin in a moment."

Professor McGonagall directed them to form a single-file, alphabetical queue before the heavy oaken doors. The ghosts went straight through them before she could even push them open, and then Harry found himself walking forward beneath a ceiling composed of night sky and starlight.

"Amazing," he whispered.

"It's bewitched to-" Hermione began.

"Look like the sky outside, I know, but words just don't do it justice."

Really, it looked like the gothic vaulted arches stretching upwards from the edges of the hall simply faded into the velvety blanket above them, as if there were no ceiling at all.

Hermione giggled.

"It's not often anyone can out-quote me."

"I promise I won't do it often enough that you'll get put out with me. Dad says the best people out there have a clever girl telling them what's what."

Ron snickered.

"He's met my mum, then."

To their collective surprise, Neville giggled, too.

"And my Gran."

A hush stole over the seated bodies at the four long tables and down the line of first years as McGonagall directed them to stop at the centre of the hall. Harry heard his name whispered over and over through the room. It was all he could do to keep from jumping on the table and doing a jig. He wondered if this is how the Doctor felt all the time and resolved to try not to enjoy it as much as he did.

Quiet finally fell completely when McGonagall placed a four-legged stool before the head table and dropped a patched, frayed, dirty old wizard's hat on top of it.

That definitely wasn't what Harry expected. Were they to draw lots from its depths? Then the hat squirmed and a wide gap opened near its brim and to the first year's amazement, it began to sing.

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_This old hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I shall put you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong to Gryffindor,_

_Whose house is brave and true, _

_Those of daring verve and chivalry may prove Gryffindor, too;_

_You might belong to Hufflepuff,_

_Whose pack is just and loyal,_

_Fair Hufflepuff's steadfast kin are unafraid of toil;_

_Or perhaps you'll go to Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a keen, strong mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning will always find their kind;_

_Great Slytherin remains to you who seek to meet a few true friends,_

_And to top the rest, you cunning folk _

_Strive to achieve your ends._

_So put me on! Do not Fear!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The hall burst into applause, the first years barely joining them in time for it to die down again, and then McGonagall began calling forward the students to be sorted. Harry already had a good idea of where he would end up.

Abbot, Hanna went first. Then Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Lavender Brown and Millicent Bulstrode walked forward, tried the Hat, and went to the house it dictated. Each time, the responding table would accept its new housemate with cheers and applause, until McGonagall called Granger, Hermione to sit the stool.

Harry tried to give her a smile of encouragement as she walked forward, visibly trembling from head to toe. The sight made his own nervousness flare up a bit as he watched the Hat fall over her eyes. She sat a long moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth, while the Hat stilled and deliberated.

"Hufflepuff!" it finally declared.

Hermione grinned and hopped off the stool to join her new house. A few older Hufflepuffs made room for her as she crossed to their table. Harry and Neville whistled and cheered with the rest of them, louder than any other first-years.

Before he felt quite ready, Moon, Nott, Parkinson, two Patils and a Sally-Anne Perks had left the queue to stand judgement and no one else stood before him and only a short line remained behind him.

McGonagall paused longer than she had before.

"Potter, Harry," she enunciated clearly.

Whispers spread like rushing water through the hall and got louder while he walked forward to be sorted. He sat on the stool gingerly and McGonagall dropped the magical sorting accessory over his head. It fell almost to his nose and Harry resisted the urge to sneeze. How many heads had been in there before his own?

"Too many to count, I assure you," a voice said into Harry's mind.

He clenched the edges of the seat.

"I'm used to my dad's telepathy but this is just plain _weird_."

"And yet you're not afraid. That speaks to Gryffindor, Mr Potter. I see you're not afraid of much. Aliens from outer space. Time Lords. Different dimensions. Secret wars… How marvelously frightening."

"I figure I'd fit pretty well there, based on your description."

The Hat seemed to convulse, and Harry belatedly realised it was laughing. He wondered what it looked like to everyone else.

"Like I'm having a very difficult time sorting you. And I am, really. You're quite clever. Very sharp. So much knowledge already, and such a thirst for more. You'd do well in Ravenclaw."

"But you won't put me there, because I like knowledge and witticism for more than just my personal gratification."

"Yes, you want to do something with it. You want to _help_ people."

The Hat seemed to hum to itself for a moment. Harry tried not to think about how boring it must be to be a hat on every other day of the year.

"No, you can't help me. I'm not a person, anyway. But you know, not everyone _wants_ help. It's a rather ambitious goal, helping people. Very difficult. It's a goal worthy of any Slytherin. But are you sure that's what you want?"

"My mum and dad found me on a doorstep in November and decided to adopt me. Did you know that?" Harry asked it silently.

"I know everything in your head, Harry Potter."

"Then you know why I don't care if it's hard. It's the right thing to do."

"Then it had better be… _SLYTHERIN!_"

It shouted the last out loud and Harry grinned.

"Bravely go where few care to tread," it whispered as Harry took the Hat off. "And beware. Ambition in itself is good, but do not think to ignore the will of those you'd like to save."

The hall was silent. Harry shrugged and turned to the hall as he backed toward Slytherin table.

"Sorry, folks. I know your expectations are probably shattered in a million little pieces of disappointment right now, but I've got major plans for my life. Don't worry, though. I promise I'm not another dork lord."

Hermione, Neville, and two redheaded twins burst into applause just as Harry reached his seat. Belatedly, the rest of Slytherin table broke into cheers as many – Harry wasn't sure who, exactly – began shouting "We got Potter!"

Still, it cut off quickly in light of the rest of the stubbornly silent hall, and the remainder of the first-years went to their houses with somewhat muted adulation. Harry barely paid attention as the Headmaster stood and spread his arms wide. He was _so_ hungry. Those pumpkin pasties and chocolates had been a long time ago. Harry checked his fob watch.

It was well past nine and going on ten. He hoped supper wasn't this late every day, or he'd have to write home for a snack stash.

"Welcome!" the headmaster said, beaming as if it were Christmas come early. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! It is a pleasure to see you all safely here. Now, before we begin our feast, I would like to impart unto you a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

And he sat down. Harry cheered. The man at least had the sense to keep things short in the presence of a thousand very hungry teenagers and preteens.

"Hear, hear!"

Harry folded his napkin into his lap and took hold of his golden knife and fork. If the food did not arrive in two seconds he was sure he might start eating the gleaming plate. But, to his relief and delight, the table soon groaned beneath the weight of pheasants, hams, beef roasts, vegetables in rich stews and sauces, salads, pies, breads, cheeses, and every condiment ever conceived by a European, Brit or Scott.

Harry tucked in. He had not felt so ravenous since his father decided they should explore an old haunted moor together. It had not ended well. It took three days to find their way out again after following around strange lights and their food ran out on the second. His mother had been livid.

Once his belly stopped griping at him, Harry finally found the motivation to listen in on the conversation occurring around him, or what little there was to be had. It seemed his new housemates were unsure as to his placement among them.

Harry dabbed his mouth with his napkin and took a long drink of pumpkin juice – it tasted spicy and went deliciously with everything there.

"Well, I'm Harry Potter. I did not kill the Dark Lord Voldemort, despite what anyone says, and I'm happy to be friends with anyone who wishes to be friends," he said without preamble, glancing to the people seated nearest.

Their faces either remained carefully blank or clouded with disbelief.

"I enjoy chocolate, science fiction novels, travelling, experimenting, and my favourite subject so far is potions. I wasn't raised in the wizarding world for my safety, but my father and mother are accomplished wizards who have travelled both time and space."

At this, many of the facades around him cracked a little. Harry tried not to smile, he really did.

"And I like Earl Grey tea, white with one sugar, and my favourite colour is blue. Any questions so far?"

A beat of silence, then –

"How could wizards raise you in the muggle world?"

"What potions have you tried?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"You said your parents, but everyone knows you grew up with relatives. Are you adopted?"

And so the questions went. Nothing serious came up, aside from the parenting questions, but Harry suspected it would give away too much to ask the _real_ questions out loud. Better to observe. Harry, himself, took great pleasure in observing their reactions to his questions, which he kept purposefully cryptic.

"Easily, with a great big notice-me-not around our house and car and lots and lots of wonderful magical toys."

"I'm very interested in the draught of sleeping death; I think it may be the origin of many no-wiz fairy tales."

"I have a five-year-old sister, and she's even more talented than I am."

And then it was Harry's turn to be an interrogator as he worked his way through a third helping of treacle tart.

He learned the names of all the first years and most of the second years, as well as the six prefects for their house. He learned which professors taught what and which one headed their house. Harry felt a little confused when he looked at the dark-haired man sitting at the head table speaking to the purple-turbaned Professor Quirrel. Something knocked a little insistently against the walls in his head. His scar twinged a little and Harry looked down again.

_That_ was worrisome. He needed to research whether wizards are all telepaths or not.

When the desserts finally disappeared – Harry gave a silent prayer of thanks for saving him from another unneeded helping of tart – the headmaster rose to his feet again and the conversation died out.

"Now that we are all watered and fed, I have a few short start-of-term announcements before I can release you all to your dreams.

"First, I would like to welcome Professor Quirinus Quirrel back from his practical tour of magical Europe, an effort from which I am sure you all shall benefit as he assumes the post of instructor for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

A light smattering of applause met this news and Quirrel stood shakily to bow.

"Thank you, Professor Quirrel. On a related note, first years should bear in mind the forest on grounds remains forbidden to all students, hence its name. Some older students would do well to remember that, as well."

The headmaster's eyes twinkled as they fell on the redheaded twins who Harry suspected to be Ron's older brothers.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, our beloved caretaker, to remind you magic and magical toys are not to be used in the halls between classes. There are several open classrooms open for study and experimentation with the observation of any prefect with the permission of a teacher."

The prefects stood at Dumbledore's signal and Harry made a note of all their faces.

"Quidditch trials shall be held on the second weekend of term. Any and all interested in playing for his or her house team should contact Madam Hooch and his or her head of house.

"And finally," the headmaster continued, his voice dropping gravely. "The third floor corridor will be out-of-bounds for the remainder of the year to everyone who does not wish to die an exceptionally painful death."

No one laughed, even Harry, whose first inclination was to toast the frankly ridiculous wizard.

"Is he serious?" he asked the nearest person.

The Slytherin prefect cocked an eyebrow.

"I imagine he is. Else he's conducting another mad experiment. A few years ago he rearranged the timetables and put the majority of the first and second year Gryffindors and Slytherins together for their double periods."

"And that was bad?"

The prefect, Terence Higgs, shrugged.

"Terrible except in potions. Everyone rather hates us, you know."

"I plan to change that," Harry whispered with a secretive smile. "Ambition and good dress sense doesn't make us evil."

The headmaster had tapped his podium for silence, and eventually they gave it. He cleared his throat and twinkled at them all.

"Now, if you'll just join me in a school song before we trot off to bed."

A wave of the headmaster's wand sent a ribbon of golden light into the air over the head table to spell out the lyrics.

"Just pick any tune you like. And one, and two, and-"

It was horrible and wonderful at the same time.

Wonderful in its whimsy and horrible in what it did to Harry's ears. He, of course, compensated by shouting the lyrics to Disney's "A Whole New World" at the top of his lungs.

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn 'till our brains all rot._

Everyone finished at different times until only the Weasley twins remained, singing the last lines in a slow dirge with Dumbledore conducting them through the finish. He clapped among the loudest when they stopped to bow to the rest of the hall.

"Ah, Music!" the headmaster sighed. "What greater joy is there in life? And now, to bed, all of you."

Harry was convinced, now: The headmaster definitely counted as mad.

The hall filled with great bangs and scrapes as a thousand students rose to follow their prefects to the dormitories. Harry yawned hugely. It was now eleven at night and he was thoroughly exhausted. He followed the flow of Slytherins in green and silver trimmings out of the great hall and down the main staircase. Down and down they went, hundreds of feet pounding on the marble steps, until they left the bright and airy upper castle behind and descended into the dimly lit, damp and draughty lower levels.

Terence Higgs and Bridget Blishwick paused as they reached a long corridor at the base of a wide, spiralling staircase.

"We are now at the dungeons," said Bridget. "If you go left here, you'll find your way to Professor Snape's office and the potions labs. We're going right."

_Right_ led to a veritable maze of corridors, dungeons, classrooms, and suits of armour. As they left the potions corridor through the archway leading right, the prefects took them left, right, right again, left again, straight for a while, right, right, left, until they arrived at a dead end. The stone wall looked like any other wall they had encountered thus far, but Harry could _feel_ there was something here.

Blishwick and Higgs turned to face the group.

"You will learn to find our common room based upon your sense for magical auras. All true Slytherins will master finding it within the week. Until then, you are welcome to ask any older Slytherin and they will help you," said Higgs.

"The first rule to being in Slytherin is solidarity," Blishwick continued.

Harry could tell they had done this before at least once.

"While you may have your political battles amongst each other, we keep them private outside the walls of our common room. We must be united in the face of the opposition of the other houses. We are not given clemency or understanding from any non-Slytherins, so this is our most sacred rule."

Harry nodded slightly to himself. It made sense, and he began to understand the situation a little better. Really, there was no other way to be in the face of greater numbers, so it was no wonder the majority rushed to paint Slytherin with the same brush.

"The password is _Icarus_."

The wall groaned and a hidden door slid open to admit all of Slytherin house. Inside was a long, low-ceilinged room with rough-hewn walls. Round, squat lanterns suspended in intricately spun silver chains hung from the dark glass ceiling at intervals, casting cool, flickering light over a setting of plush, high-backed chairs and low, marble-topped tables. An elaborately worked fireplace bisected the back wall, around which a few chaise lounges and sofas sat arranged in a semicircle. A few of the upper years – the other four prefects and their friends, mostly – began levitating the seating around the fire until the floor was filled save for a central aisle and a small clearing near the fire.

"Before you go off to bed," the oldest female prefect, Rachel Max, called. "We want to give you a few more house rules and introduce you to our head of house."

Harry sat between Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass on one of the long sofas. The other first years climbed sleepily into chairs and lounges until only floor space remained, but given the depth of the lush, emerald green carpet, this was no burden to anyone. The number of yawns and droopy eyes were vastly increasing.

"Now," Blishwick continued, "We expect you to make your introductions throughout the week. You will learn very quickly that if you do not have friends in Slytherin, you're not likely to make any elsewhere. Networking is a crucial skill to political survival."

"And the friends you make here will help you succeed in finding success once you leave Hogwarts," Max added.

"So here are the rules," Higgs said. "As Blishwick so aptly put it before, our solidarity is paramount to Slytherin House survival. We will always show unity in the face of other houses or teachers. Never, ever, undermine another Slytherin in public. You may, of course, report your fellow Slytherins for misdeeds behind closed doors, to a teacher, if necessary, but never in front of other students."

"Second, we do not speak of blood purity, money, or politics in public. Let people make their own assumptions about you," Blishwick warned. "Personally, I extend that same advice to the common room, too. You will be competing for position, but unity's difficult in public if we are divided in private."

"Third," Higgs said with a pointed look at them all. "Make intelligent choices reflective of your Slytherin nature. If you fail in that endeavour, do not get caught. Whatever punishment assigned to you will be tripled by your housemates."

Lots of room for ambiguity there, Harry thought, and plenty of potential for misinterpretation.

Behind them, the door slid open again with a low, grinding sound and shoes clicked against the polished marble floor before they became lost upon the carpet.

"Welcome fledgling Slytherins," a smooth voice said in a low, sibilant tone.

It carried through the room, though, and Harry had the sudden urge to keep very, very still.

"As you no doubt know by now, I am Professor Severus Snape, potions master for Hogwarts," he murmured as he approached the centre clearing by the fire.

When he reached it, he turned to look at them all with dark, nearly black eyes. Harry felt a brush on his mind again and carefully kept his face blank.

"While you are here, you are my charges. As such, I expect the best from you at all times. In return, I will be your staunch defender in any case against Slytherin. Your interests are my interests. Do not hesitate to notify me if someone endangers those goals."

A small smirk played at the corner of the man's severe mouth.

"Unlike the house of the dunderheads or the vainglorious," he sneered, "You must all meet certain levels of academic achievement to remain in good standing with me. Fail to do so, and you will lose such privileges as weekends, out-of-school excursions, and holidays."

He paused as he searched their faces.

"Are we understood?"

Harry answered along with his housemates.

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"Very good. Impress me by earning high marks and house points, and I will reward you accordingly. I have been known, in the past, to provide special passes to visit home during term, as well as permission for in-house parties or other such gifts."

Harry thought the man's eyes lingered on him a long moment when the professor spoke of impressing him.

"Now, off to bed. Your prefects will distribute your timetables by the time you return from breakfast tomorrow."

The potions mater swept out of the room as quickly as he came, leaving the first years to follow the prefects off to their dormitories. The boys split off toward one side the room, where yet another ornately carved archway led down away from the common room. They went down two flights of stairs to a wide landing, off which led three doorway, each numbered 1 through 3.

Higgs opened the door for them to reveal a moderately sized den with several desks and tables, shelves of books, and a few crates stacked with wizarding board and card games. A fire roared in a pit at the centre of the room, surrounded by more plush carpets and green upholstered poufs.

"This is the first year's dormitory," he said. "As you can tell, this is the first year's common study, meaning, please keep some respect for your dorm-mates. You're allowed to have ladies in the study area only until curfew. Believe you me, if you try to sneak a girl into your room, everyone will know."

The prefect looked about at all their tired faces and nodded once.

"Right. Bed. Sleep well. Pick your rooms. They're all the same so don't argue too long.

The door shut, leaving Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini and Harry behind. They looked at each other for a long moment, then at the six doors leading off the study.

"It was good meeting all of you today," Harry finally said. "I look forward to studying with you all."

"Yeah. Night, Potter," said Zabini simply before going to one of the doors. He shut it behind him and a silver plaque appeared on its front.

Nott, Goyle and Crabbe muttered similar greetings before lumbering off. Malfoy remained to look curiously at Harry as Harry eyed the unoccupied room to Zabini's right, just near the den entrance.

"I wanted to apologize," he said at last. "I behaved rudely earlier."

Harry met his eyes and granted the boy a shrug and a smile.

"That's alright, Malfoy. Just be sure you don't make assumptions again."

And with that, Harry crossed the den to his new bedroom and shut and locked the door behind him. Hedwig waited for him already, standing on a bronze perch by a small, round-bellied wood stove, beneath a wide, round vent.

"Is that how you get in and out?" Harry wondered, looking up at the hole in the ceiling nine feet above the recessed stove. He ran his hand over the air there and was surprise that it was only slightly uncomfortably hot.

"Well, at least I won't freeze down here," he mumbled.

Harry sat at the eleven-year-old sized escritoire beside his luxurious four-poster bed, jotted down a quick note to his parents and Jenny, and crawled on top of the sheets. He didn't even manage to take his contacts out before he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

A/N: *President, not Prime Minister, because alternate universe earth had a President and a Monarchy in Britain rather than a Prime Minister. This is a correction I made after re-watching some episodes.

Sorry, I know it was a long one. I shall post by next Tuesday at the latest, probably sooner, seeing as I began this last week and I'm already six chapters in. Hope you enjoyed it.

In response to one reviewer, I took the estimate for wizarding UK's population from the Harry Potter Lexicon and a couple Harry Potter fact and fan sites. I looked through the numbers JK provided through the books and found their estimations to be more logical than some of the higher ones, especially considering the era in which my story is based.

Wizards live a very, very long time in most places, often surpassing 100 years of age. Aside from the Weasleys, who seem to be an anomaly based upon JK's prose, most families have fewer than four children.

Magical children in the UK, for the most part, attend Hogwarts. There's only around 1,000, maybe 1,200 there, at most. There never were very many wizards or separating from the muggle world would not have become necessary. Therefore, low, low population numbers.

Also keep in mind the UK is still recovering after the wizarding war against Voldemort. A lot of young people who would have become parents either died or were imprisoned before they could procreate very much.

As to the numbers reported at the world cup - The UK ranks twenty-second for actual population as of July 1, 2012. Ahead of it are twenty-one other countries, all of which have wizards. Considering the devastation during Voldemort's war, the wizarding population, I imagine, would rank among the lowest in the world, similar to much smaller countries.

The world cup's 100,000 some spectators are only a minute fraction of the wizards throughout the planet. Realistically, due to the prohibitive cost and availability of the tickets, I imagine rich foreign wizards far outnumbered the spectators from the UK. After all, what's the point of hosting such a large event if not to make money off he endeavor? Again, the Ministry's still recovering from war. Proportionately, I thought many more ministry workers attended the cup in a professional capacity than civilian citizens.

At least, that's the reality for my alternate universe.

Thanks for your interest in the story! I love answering questions about my thought process, as you can probably see. Thanks for a great question, Amadan.


	6. Probably a Mass Murderer

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Had a question about where Harry got his ticket. I assumed that when normal procedure occurs, students receive it after they've sent Hogwarts their Yay-Magic letter by the 31st.

Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Six: Probably a Mass Murderer

* * *

_**September 2, 2012**_

_Dear Mum, Dad and Jenny,_

_I arrived safely at Hogwarts. I'm now officially a Slytherin-in-training. Love you all. And I haven't forgotten my promise, Jen. I'll find some loose stone and carve you a promise._

_Love,_

_Harry_

* * *

Harry was intensely glad September first had fallen on a Saturday, or else he surely would have gotten lost come Monday morning's 9 a.m. potions class. The castle was larger than he could have ever conceived and even more amazing than that. Stairs upon stairs climbed up and down, sideways, around and every which way, constantly changing. So, after spending the first several hours after his breakfast on Sunday morning exploring, Harry felt immensely glad he had spent the last several years involved in football clubs, or else the constant climbing would have left him winded and clutching stitches in his side.

Her carried a camera with him he had rented off Rachel Max upon the receipt of his timetable that morning. Every few moments, some new amazement caught his eye and he snapped a photo for Jenny. So far, he had discovered the astronomy tower, the classroom of an S. Trelawny, and Professor McGonagall's office in addition to several corridors containing classrooms, broom closets, armories, trophy rooms, and a small swimming pool which he thought may actually be a flooded bathroom.

It was during his exploration of the seventh floor that he came across Hermione and Neville, who were apparently doing the same as him.

"Hermione, Nev!" he called as he rounded the corner.

They looked up from the parchment held between them and broke into wide smiles.

"Hi Harry!" Neville said with a grin. "Check it out," he said, flashing his Gryffindor crest. "I made it after all."

"Yeah, I saw! Congrats."

Harry clapped his shoulder and smiled at Hermione, who timidly smiled back at him.

"Trying to find your classes for tomorrow?"

She nodded and held out the parchment.

"We're making a map. One of my prefects told me he'd make copies for all the Hufflepuff first years and one for Gryffindor if we made a passable version," she said in a rush. Her face pinched a little as she eyed it again. "It's just so huge, though."

"Yep. Gargantuan. Really bigger than it should be. Did you notice?"

Neville grinned ruefully.

"She threw a fit when we went outside and she realized there isn't even a seventh floor or room in the towers for more than staircases."

"I love magic," Harry said by way of agreement.

Hermione huffed.

"Well, it shouldn't disobey the laws of physics. Everything I've been witnessing is making me feel I've wasted countless hours studying in primary school."

Harry looped his arms through her and Neville's elbows.

"Never say that, 'Mione. Anything you learn serves as a basis of understanding and reference. That's what my dad says, anyway."

"I really would like to meet your parents," Hermione mused as they passed an especially ugly tapestry of a knight teaching trolls to dance.

Harry paused to snap a photo.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe you will, someday."

He wound the film and twitched as Neville tapped him on the shoulder. Hermione had gone still at his side. Neville began tugging on his sleeve until he turned to stare at a previously hidden door.

Harry crept forward and put his cheek to the wood.

"Any ideas?" he asked as he tapped on it gingerly.

It was definitely a door, with a whole room behind it, judging from the sound. Harry licked the smooth, worn surface. Hermione and Neville shared twin looks of disgust.

"Ew."

"You all right there, Harry?"

"It's really _old_. And really magical. More magical than the average room," he said as he put a hand on the doorknob.

"We should probably leave it alone," Neville advised timidly.

Hermione shook her head.

"There are loads of hidden doors in Hogwarts. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_, and last night the Hufflepuff prefects took us into the kitchens through a hidden door for some hot cocoa."

"Really?"

But Harry wasn't paying much attention anymore: He had opened the door just a smidge to peek around the corner. His fingers went slack and it swung all the way open.

To his amazement, he found the interior of his tree house, but flipped as if he were looking at it in a mirror. A high definition screen took up the majority of the wall facing him, and beanbag chairs lined the walls around a scruffy old shag carpet. Dials, knobs, buttons and bobs on control panels interspersed the room.

He felt Hermione and Neville enter behind him and close the door.

"Where are we?" Neville asked not a little fearfully.

"It looks muggle," Hermione observed. "Are those branches out there?"

She crossed to the window and gasped.

"We're in a _tree house_."

"It's not just any tree house," Harry corrected. "It's _my_ tree house. But how's that possible?"

But before Harry could think further than that, the huge screen flipped on and Harry found himself looking at –

"Dad!" he nearly shouted.

The man on the screen turned as if he could hear Harry and came into focus: Bushy dark eyebrows, windswept hair, high cheekbones and intense, deep-set brown eyes.

"Harry?" the man wondered, his voice a little high-pitched in his surprise.

"Dad!" Harry said again. "How are you doing that?"

The image flashed blue as the sonic hummed its signature tune. The Doctor's eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline.

"I don't know. I really don't," he laughed. "Did _you_ do something?"

"No, I… We-" he gestured to Neville and Hermione, "Were exploring, and I was taking a photo of the barmy tapestry across he corridor and then this door showed up."

"What were you talking about? Maybe you accidentally said a passcode."

"I don't know. Hermione said she'd like to meet you, and I was just thinking how I wish Jenny could see, too, and then this door-"

"Check for a telepathic field," the Doctor interrupted. "You wanted home and it looks like it gave you the tree house plus comms."

Harry stuck out his tongue, to the amazement and utter confusion of his friends. Then he screwed up his face and closed his eyes for several minutes in which Hermione and Neville talked to a man on a television they had never met before.

"So," the Doctor said, "Hermione, I remember you from the booksellers. So that just leaves..?"

"Neville Longbottom, sir," Neville said quickly. "Harry and I met on the train."

"And how are you enjoying school so far, Neville and Hermione?"

They exchanged a look and apparently decided to accept the absurdity of the situation. It _was_ a magical castle, after all.

"It's wonderful. We don't start until tomorrow, so we were just trying to explore and find where all our classes are, like Harry said," Hermione rushed. "Everywhere we go there's something new and amazing. And I got into Hufflepuff house, which I didn't really expect, but-"

"You must be a very hard worker," the Doctor complimented. "And staunchly loyal to your friends, since you didn't abandon Harry when he came out all snakey."

Hermione would have been offended if the Doctor didn't have such a charming smile. She blushed. The Doctor grinned.

"And you, Mr Longbottom?"

"I made Gryffindor. Didn't think I would. I didn't know if I was a real wizard or not, really, until my uncle Algie dropped me out a window when I was eight. I bounced all the way from the garden to the lane."

"That wasn't very sporting of him," the Doctor frowned. "He could have killed you."

Neville shrugged.

"That's the first time he got it right, though. He pushed me off a pier once trying to scare the magic out of me. But I guess I am. My gran'll be very pleased when she hears I made the Gryffs. She was so proud I got my acceptance letter that she even gave me my dad's wand to use."

The Doctor smiled at him gently.

"And so my lonely boy finds himself two other lonely children to be friends with," he said affectionately. "Do you know what that means?"

The children shook their heads.

"You'll have some marvellous adventures, of course."

Hermione grinned.

"But where are my manners? I'm the Doctor. Harry's dad."

Harry came around then, with a huge grin on his face.

"Definitely telepathic, but it's not just the room, I don't think. It feels bigger. It feels different, like…" Harry searched for the words and couldn't find them so he simply smiled and sat down in one of the plush beanbags.

"You'll have to experiment with the room and see if you can make it do this again. Mum's at Torchwood this week, so I've got the home front and Jenny. I can send you suggestions and we can set up some testing times."

"Where _is_ Jenny?" Harry asked, looking around the Doctor's oversized face at the rest of the reflected tree house.

"In her room, I expect. She's still moping because you couldn't take her in your trunk." The Doctor paused and his eyebrows drew together. "I won't tell her about this until we've had a few successful trials. It'd be smashing to be able to see and talk to you regularly, but until we can be sure-"

"Yeah, I don't want to build her hopes up," Harry agreed.

They looked at each other a long moment.

"Well, you should probably get on with it. Go, explore. Write me later."

"Okay," Harry said quietly. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, Jemmy."

The three left quickly after that, all pointedly ignoring Harry's flaming cheeks.

"Maybe it's a wish-granting room," Hermione wondered aloud as they continued down the seventh floor corridor.

"Whatever it is, it's brilliant," Neville grinned. "I wonder if we could make it do that for all our homes? Like a bigger, better floo."

"What's a floo?" Hermione asked.

"Wizard transportation," Harry said absently as he snapped a photo of a passing ghost. He harrumphed loudly and faded through a wall.

"Drop some magic floo powder into your fire and you can zip off to your destination by saying an address. It's a space-time manipulation built on top of passcodes and magical coolant."

Neville blinked. Hermione laughed.

"Sometimes, you speak like you swallowed a science fiction novel."

"My dad's also a scientist and a novelist. Didn't I say?"

Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

They kept walking, making notes, and taking photos until they reached the ground floor of the castle, where lunch had already commenced. Tired, famished, and with sore feet they trudged into the great hall and plopped down at the nearest table.

Harry reached for a piping hot, dark, multigrain loaf of bread, fully intent on stuffing it with thick slices of rosemary-glazed pork for an oversized sandwich. He found some grilled tomato slices, cheese, and salad further down the table, which he also pushed into the bread until it practically overflowed with delicious fillings.

"How are you going to get your mouth around that?" Hermione asked with a hint of disgust in her voice.

"Not sure, but I'm going to try," Harry answered.

And he did in the way only growing almost teenaged boys can. Neville tried not to laugh as Harry attacked the sandwich and eventually resorted to forking bits of meat separately between bites of bread and veg.

After they had stuffed themselves with more pumpkin juice and food than their bellies were used to, Harry, Neville and Hermione mutually agreed their exploration should continue after a well-deserved kip. Neville went up the staircase again to the Gryffindor tower while Harry and Hermione started winding their way downstairs.

"Thanks for joining us," Hermione said after a short while. "I have a feeling you were nearly done doing your own mapping when you found us."

"Well, I had already done it from one direction and I was starting on the other, but I enjoyed it anyway," Harry shrugged.

"I had fun. Maybe we can find an empty classroom tomorrow and work on our homework together," she suggested.

"Yeah. And let's all have lunch again. I haven't made much progress befriending any of the Slytherin guys, yet."

They paused in the entrance hall, just before the grand staircase.

"See you later this afternoon?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"'Course. I'll meet you here and we can get Neville. Say, four o'clock?"

"All right. See you then."

Harry gave Hermione a jaunty wave before she went down the stairs to the kitchens and cellars, and he turned to follow the elusive trail to the Slytherin common room.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as it had seemed last night without the added adrenalin of excitement and nerves in his system. He found his way to the potions corridor all right, but once he crossed under the archway into the Slytherin Labyrinth (as he had begun to call it), he could make neither hide nor hair of which way to go.

He even tried closing his eyes and reaching for the directions in his mind, tasting them even, but he could not grasp the illusive tickle just on the fringes of his senses.

"Potter," a deep voice thrummed. "What are you doing?"

Harry's eyes snapped open to meet the gaze of his new head of house and potions master. He clicked his heels together in an instinctive show of attention.

"Professor…"

Why did his tongue suddenly feel like cotton wool? Probably because it had been sticking out for half a minute. His head of house probably thought him completely bonkers.

"I, erm-"

"Spit it out, boy."

Harry shook his head as if to shake off an insect.

"Sorry, professor," he began again. "I was trying to make my way back to the common room for a kip. Prefect Higgs said we could find it with our magical senses, and I thought I could do that, but it's, well."

Harry shrugged.

"I can _feel_ it, but it feels like it's coming from everywhere all at once."

The severe potions master searched Harry's face. Harry felt the light brush of telepathy against his mental walls and lowered them willingly to show the professor what me meant. But, as soon as the probe touched Harry's awareness, the head of house's face went slack.

"Mr Potter," he finally managed. "Did anyone ever tell you I was friends with your mother?"

Harry blinked. That was definitely not what he expected.

"No, sir. Actually, aside from what I've read in books, I don't know anything about my mother."

Harry looked into Professor Snape's face again, but it had already reverted into the cool mask it wore before.

"I shall show you back to your dormitories. I think tomorrow you would be wise to report to my office after dinner so we may work on honing your frankly ridiculous sensitivity to magical energies," he instructed. Then, more softly. "If you are an exceptionally good student, as your mother was, then perhaps I will have the time to tell you a little about her."

The professor led Harry back to the dormitories, all the while making comments on what he should be looking for with his magical sense. Harry almost had the knack of it when they finally reached the hidden door.

"Thank you, professor."

"You are a Slytherin, Mr Potter," Snape answered with a cocked brow. "Thanks are not necessary so long as you remain deserving."

That lingered with Harry as he descended the stairs to the first year boys' dormitory. Nott lay in the shared den with his legs propped up on a pouf and a book on his face, apparently fast asleep. Harry yawned.

Kip first, then he'd get back to unravelling the mysteries the castle. And his head of house. And maybe even the headmaster.

* * *

_**September 3, 2012**_

Harry frowned down at his timetable and carefully copied each class and location into the handsome leather-bound planner his Grandma Jackie had gifted him. Everything from meal times and feast-day schedules to mid-term and final exams, Harry penned in. He'd have an older student make a copy for his mum and dad. If they could make the secret room work again, there was a chance he would be taking several of his free periods to catch up with his far-away family. He took another bite of bacon sandwich and snapped the book shut.

Something brushed against Harry's sleeve and he looked up to find the breakfast table occupied by several more occupants than he last remembered.

"So, Potter," Malfoy said as he poured himself some juice. "How are you enjoying wizarding life?"

Malfoy's face portrayed nothing but polite interest. Harry shrugged.

"Well enough. It's really not as exciting as home, just yet. Before I came to Hogwarts, I saw magic every day."

The boy rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to lie, Potter. Tell us, really. How awful were those muggle relatives of yours?"

Harry felt his patience quickly dwindling, but gamely glued a smile to his face.

"Really, Malfoy, I never met my so-called relatives. My mum and dad are wonderful. They take me to see magical artefacts, places, anywhere I wanted so I could cultivate a love for magic."

It wasn't a lie, really, just a cultural translation.

"What I want to know is," Harry teased, "Why are you so interested? I never took you for a Harry Potter and the Vampires of Vasili fan."

Malfoy's cheeks burned scarlet as giggles swept the table.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had a crush. Not that I'd mind. I really don't know what way I lean, yet. But I do find your assumptions and line of questioning a little on the personal side."

A few people had worked themselves into full-on laughter this point. Malfoy wisely shut his mouth and fled the table.

"Excellent manoeuvring," Daphne Greengrass complimented. "You've no idea how wonderful it feels to have someone to match him."

The quarter-hour bells began tolling and Harry rose along with the majority of his house.

"Why hasn't anyone challenged him?" he asked as he fell in behind some of the other first-year Slytherins.

Daphne raised one manicured hand in a more elegant version of an isn't-it-obvious gesture (rather than, say, rolling her eyes like a peasant). Harry tried not to smile.

"He's a _Malfoy_."

"The way you say it, I guess that means lots of money and political influence, right?"

The statuesque brunette sniffed rather than answer aloud.

"And I suppose Malfoy senior's bribed, bought and wriggled his way to the top of the pureblood food chain."

Daphne's face went absolutely blank, as if someone had flicked a switch somewhere. Harry wondered whether such switches existed and if he could have one for his face. He bluffed only about as well as his mother; which was to say, poorly at best.

"And I'm a match for Draco because I'm famous enough to get away with it."

Greengrass smirked at him.

"That remains to be seen. Still, you make excellent breakfast entertainment."

She disappeared among a gaggle of Slytherin girls as they turned the corner, leaving Harry adrift behind the rest of the first year snakes just ahead of the Gryffindors coming up the corridor.

"Excuse me, sorry-"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the familiar voice as Neville fought to get past some of the other first year Lions.

"Hi, Nev!" Harry called over the heads separating him from his friend.

Neville waved back as he squeezed between the wall and a group of girls.

"Hi, Harry!"

He finally stumbled forward, pink-faced and a little out of breath, to walk beside him while the group wound its way to the dungeons.

"Did you hear back from your gran?" Harry asked as soon as it looked like Neville could manage talking.

"Yeah. She's even more pleased than I thought she would be. I got a rememberall this morning in the post."

"That's lovely. So, think you're ready for potions?"

Neville face took on a strange pallor.

"Not even a little. I've heard lots of horrible things about the professor."

Harry chewed on that a little.

"I don't know what you've heard, but given enough negative motivation, anyone can become a bully. He's been really decent to me so far, but…"

Harry trailed off at Neville's decidedly frightened and doubtful expression.

"You know what, Neville?" Harry began again. "I know you'll be fine."

Neville worried the sleeves of his robe.

"How do you know?"

"Because everyone expected me to be a Gryffindor, but I wasn't brave enough for that."

"Harry-"

"No, hear me out. I could have been in any of the other houses, but the hat didn't put me there. I wasn't loyal or hardworking enough for Hufflepuff, or clever enough for Ravenclaw, and I wasn't anywhere near brave enough to be a Gryffindor lion. _You_ were. So even if you don't believe in yourself, _magic_ does. _The founders_ – because you know as well as I do they enchanted the Hat – believe in you. Even now you're practically shaking at the thought of this professor, but you're not skiving off. What's that tell you?"

Neville stopped twisting his sleeves and looked at his friend a little unsurely, but stood a little straighter, anyway.

Potions Lab 1, thus designated for its beginner's set-up, kept the feel of a dungeon despite the rows of long, granite-topped tables, washing areas, ingredients cabinets and wooden stool seating. Perhaps it was glass and crystal jars full of floating bits of dead animals and plant matter. Or maybe it was the flickering torches and metal chandeliers filled with ever-burning candles. It could have been the chains hanging from the ceiling, all of which sported wicked looking hooks at the end.

Those, Harry was pretty certain, probably served the purpose of suspending potions a little higher over the flames than a stand could manage. He could, however, imagine the tortured cries of an unfortunate victim as they hung from the ominously sharp hooks.

But, considering the way Professor Snape swept into the room, all black robes and cross-me-and-die-via-boiling-in-acid facial expression, he was betting on the local authority as root of the dungeon-y atmosphere.

Professor Severus Snape never spoke much higher than a whisper, but no one doubted he could unleash the wrath of a dragon if tested, so when he entered and began his lecture, the room fell into immediate silence and began taking notes.

Harry rather thought his dad probably gave off a similar aura to those that angered him. His mum always seemed to describe him thusly.

"… Longbottom," the Professor drawled, pausing in his roll call for the Gryffindors. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Neville's face paled and his eyes went wide. Snape sneered and turned back to his list.

"Hm. Clearly, I have my work cut out for me with this year's batch of-"

"Sorry, P-Professor," Neville managed. "It'd be an impure version of the draught of sleeping death, I think, based on the ingredients' reactive properties."

The professor raised a dark eyebrow and pursed his lips.

"Hm. Did a Gryffindor actually manage to find his text before class?"

Some of the Slytherins snickered. Neville looked about nervously but didn't shrink back. Harry smiled.

"Let's see if his luck will hold, shall we? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Neville didn't hesitate that time. His face regained a little colour.

"They're formed in a goat's digestive system, Sir," he said at once.

"Yet you failed to mention what they do," Snape sneered. "A point for your incomplete answer."

Nott, Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, Bulstrode and Parkinson laughed.

Harry rolled his eyes. It was rather a weak win.

"Anyone else?" the potions master continued.

Malfoy raised his hand, along with Patil and Thomas in Gryffindor.

And so the class continued. They received a detailed safety lecture to which Harry paid close attention and an introduction to the proper use and care of their instruments in addition to a brief run-through of efficient lab operations. Then they began brewing a boil-curing potion.

As unfair Snape was to Neville, Harry found the professor could be even worse to Gryffindors as a whole. As far as he was concerned, the Slytherins could do no wrong. Failed to chop that ingredient evenly enough – Two points from Gryffindor. Attempt to help a fellow classmate and prevent a cauldron meltdown (which Neville did half-way through the brewing section) - Ten points for cheating.

On the other hand, Crabbe, who had paired with Nott, _did_ manage to melt his cauldron into a twisted pewter blob (and subsequently cause the injury of a quarter of the Slytherins and several Gryffindors), still somehow _gained_ points for providing Snape with a teaching point.

Frankly, Harry became more and more confused as the lesson progressed. How could one man be so vastly different from the concerned, if not strict, head of house Harry encountered just one corridor away?

But, as it was time for lunch, and Harry and Neville had agreed to meet Hermione before their second period, Harry didn't have much time to ponder that problem.

"Good job in there," Harry said as he and Neville climbed the stairs ahead of their respective housemates.

"I don't think he expected me to know anything," Neville half-laughed. "I'm glad Gran got me those tutors when I was a kid.

"Really? What in?"

"Herbology and magical theory mostly, with a tiny bit of potions brewing thrown in. She figured if I didn't turn out any good at casting magic, I could still do something with the physical stuff."

Harry grinned.

"Well, there you go, then. No matter what, you'll be brilliant at something. I still have to figure out if I'm talented in _anything_."

Neville, Hermione and Harry spent lunch comparing their morning lessons, with side commentary provided by whoever sat nearest, which was a bit of a feat, considering they chose to sit at Gryffindor's table and _none_ of the Gryffindors aside from Neville wanted to be anywhere near them. Hermione went off a bit of a rant when Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan described Professor Snape's unfairness.

Harry declined participating in that conversation, as he hadn't made his mind up about that particular professor, yet.

After venting that particular frustration, the conversation turned to the lessons themselves aside from the professors who taught them. Neville, especially, could not wait for his first Herbology lesson, which Slytherin and Gryffindor shared during third period. Hermione, on the other hand, felt intensely disappointed she would not have her first Magical Theory lesson, which the boys had scheduled directly after lunch, until the following afternoon. They parted with another promise to continue investigating the mysterious room on the seventh floor at the weekend, and Harry and Neville went off to Greenhouse 1 together, fully on their way to becoming better friends than Harry could ever remember being with anyone aside from his sister.

* * *

_**After Dinner, September 3, 2012**_

Harry stared at the very old, very forbidding-looking wooden door before him, debating if it was too early for him to have arrived for his meeting. There was no doorknob or handle to speak of: simply a polished silver plaque reading _Professor S. Snape _tacked to the door's age-smoothed surface. Just as he raised his fist to knock, Harry heard Professor Snape's voice as clearly as if he had been standing beside him.

"Enter."

The door swung open with a loud creak to admit the thin, black-haired boy with a scar and a cowlick.

Severus Snape sat behind his desk with his hands folded on its surface. Harry recognized the signs of a faintly controlling, perhaps obsessive individual. Two books sat meticulously squared up against the right hand top corner of the desktop. One especially handsome eagle-feather quill stood at the ready in a stand, beside a perfectly even line of different coloured inkpots. The bookshelves and glass-fronted cabinets lining the walls displayed alphabetically and topically arranged tomes and ingredients and the back wall, which miraculously held a window – Harry rejoiced again in the wonders of magic and how Time Lord-y it all sometimes seemed – looking out onto the Black Lake.

The lighting, however, seemed a little off. Based upon their position and the time, the room should have been flooded with sunlight, yet the window only let in enough to fill the room with a diffuse, yellow light.

"Sir," Harry began, unable to help his curiosity. "How are we not blinded by the sunset right now?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't reprimand him for the question.

"All the windows in Hogwarts, real or otherwise, are enchanted glare-free and brightness controllable. Any professor can adjust any source of natural lighting."

Harry grinned at that. He had so much to write about in his first proper letter home.

"Now," Snape drawled. "Please sit."

The boy sat in front of the professor's desk and pulled out a muggle notepad and pen to wait patiently for Snape to continue.

"Yesterday afternoon," he began again, "you consciously allowed me entry into your thoughts. Why?"

Harry frowned and tried not to look too surprised. It definitely wasn't the question he was expecting.

"I could feel you looking for entry and I wanted you to understand what I was thinking, so I dropped my wall," he explained, watching for his professor's reaction. "Should I not have?"

If Snape felt anything other than boredom, his face didn't show it. Harry wanted to read and find out if he could paralyse some of the minor muscles in his face to keep from giving away his thoughts. Apparently, _everyone_ in Slytherin had one hell of a poker face.

"Based on what little knowledge the wizarding world has of you, you should not be aware of the mind arts at all. Truly," he said in clipped tones, "I find it difficult to believe the son of James Potter could manage so much as picking up a book on the subject, so obviously, you've piqued my interest."

Harry digested that a moment as he searched the professor's dark, cool gaze.

"If I hadn't piqued your interest, sir," he finally said. "Would you have treated me differently than you have so far?"

Severus Snape's severe mouth curled into a decidedly cruel smile.

"You have no idea the lengths to which I would go in order to see you excluded from my house."

Harry bit the inside of his mouth to prevent the shudder he felt building at the top of his spine. He forced a smile.

"Thank you, professor, for allowing me the chance to be interesting, then. And I hope I prove worthy of your continued interest."

Snape chuckled.

"Indeed."

The room seemed to warm several degrees and Harry felt himself relaxing that much more. The professor, too, seemed to undergo a small transformation in the set of his shoulders and face. He still looked strict and forbidding, but no more so than the average scary professor (as opposed to the possible mass murderer he so convincingly pulled off).

"I shall let you know, Mr Potter," the professor said, enunciating the 'P' with a moue of distaste. "I take a risk to meet you like this. If you are as _interesting_ as I think you to be, you're already aware the sort of attention paid you."

Harry grinned.

"Yes, sir. A lot of people can't wait to sink their teeth into me. I personally suspect a certain mad genius."

The professor's smirk disappeared.

"If you refer to the headmaster, I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

Harry nodded slightly. Point to mum. Dad would be disappointed.

"However," Snape continued, "it is true many powerful people will seek to control you, whether through manipulation, seeming leadership, or other such mechanisations. As such, your apparent talent with the mind arts should help you."

Snape's dark eyes bored into Harry's as he leaned over the desk.

"Bearing that in mind, do not, under any circumstances, allow anyone entrance into your thoughts again," he said in an urgent hush.

The boy squirmed.

"I'll follow your advice, sir, but could you tell me why I shouldn't?"

"Because, Potter, not all Legilimens seek to simply read your thoughts. If I, or any skilled Legilimens so wished it, you could find yourself in a state of pain and suffering from which you would never wake."

Harry gripped the knees of his trousers.

"Are we clear?"

"Crystal, professor."

Snape relaxed again into the velvet upholstery of his chair.

"As I said yesterday, I find myself inclined to assist you with your apparent talents beyond my already sound advice. You are possessed of an uncommon sensitivity to the magic around you, ambient and otherwise."

"I wasn't always, sir, but my dad helped me learn how to recognize it."

"Can you tell the difference between auras, signatures, energies and ambience in magic?"

Harry screwed up his face a little.

"Not practically, sir. I've read the differences in theory texts, but I've never had the opportunity to compare, really."

"You will attempt to do so as often as possible. When you return to the common room, meditate and seek out those connections. Build awareness of to what and to whom each signature belongs. When you enter and leave a room in Hogwarts, test the energies at the threshold to find the room's signature. It will be more complex than that of any singular wizard or witch, but, if you are diligent, you should be able to understand this."

Harry's pen flew across his notepad as the professor spoke, and did not stop for several moments.

"Do all wizards and witches sense magic, sir?" Harry finally asked.

"Yes, but hardly any can tell what they're feeling aside from general comprehension. The phrase 'there's magic in the air' has become rather prevalent as the art's faded through time."

Harry blinked.

"Then how does anyone find the Slytherin common room?"

The set of Snape's mouth and nose took on a certain sourness.

"Its enchantments were altered in the early 1500s to actively seek nearby students if any crossed beneath the archway leading off the potions corridor."

"So…" Harry began slowly, but sat a little straighter and looked Snape in the eye as he drew his conclusions. "You helped me last night even though you didn't really need to. This conversation is entirely for my personal benefit, over and beyond your duty as a professor."

The green-eyed boy searched Snape's face. The man stared back as the stare stretched into a minute.

"Thank you."

"Your mother was a dear friend, and you seem to have inherited many of her gifts. I do not particularly like _you_, Potter, but born as you were with those two fortunes, who am I to deny you help?"

"Well, thanks either way, professor. I think you're the first adult wizard I've met to be straight with me."

* * *

A/N: I shall post again by next Tuesday, if not earlier.


	7. Stupid and Lucky

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: A reviewer recently posed a question relating to the population of wizarding UK. If anyone's interested, I've left an extra note at the end of chapter five. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I always read them and take encouragement from them. I love you all.

* * *

Stupid and Lucky

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_**September 6, 2012**_

_5 September 2012_

_Dear Harry,_

_Since the appearance of that rather unexpected programming Sunday evening, I've rigged a couple devices to my screen which should, assuming Magic is Time Energy manipulated to control an atom's state, allow me to measure and control the connection to an extent. Feel free to tune in anytime you're free. I'll be able to see. _

_Of course, I base that idea solely on our research before and since you left, so if I'm wrong and the whole lot explodes, I'll finally get the chance to build us a better tree house. You can help me, this time around, and maybe we can recreate a bit of the phone box's lost charm. Bigger on the inside, indeed!_

_Thank you for sending those photographs and for a copy of your planner. Jenny was very pleased to see you're doing well, even if she misses you. Who knows. If the spark of Magic lives in my side of the family, perhaps she'll come out not not-human, too. She's still young, and I'm still picking up odd readings around the house, but it could just be residue from you being here for so many years. Smells not not-humany. _

_I'm very disappointed to hear You-Know-Who's really so deep in it. I was rather hoping he was attempting to act in your best interests, but after your description of your conversation with He-Who-Flaps-A-Lot, I have to agree with your mum. Better avoid, for now. _

_I've finally got The Whole gang, including your Uncle, working on a bit of a family reunion. Expect to be writing invitations by Easter. _

_On another note, have you made any friends in your house? Hermione and Neville seem great, but your mum and I would sleep better knowing you've got someone watching your back wherever you're sleeping. Jen, too. _

_Also, we have a new kitten. Your sister named him Sir Wibbles. He's the orange creature in the attached Polaroid. Roughly nine months old. I think he's a kneazle, or part kneazle, because he speaks more clearly than the average house cat. Also he's very serious for a kitten. Your mum adores him. Jenny wants to send him to look after you at school._

_Be good. Mum says to check your trunk for rations. Mum says she saw Jenny sneak a second birthday cake, a tea set, and lots of other goodies in there when she thought no one was looking._

_Love you. Keep the rules in mind and keep us posted._

_-Dad_

_P.S._

_I want a stone promise souvenir. Send me an ugly old lake rock if you have to. _

_Love,_

_Jenny_

Harry reached up to scratch under Headwig's beak as he finished reading his letter and rolled over to put it in the drawer of his nightstand with the two others that had arrived since Saturday. He spello-taped the picture of his sister, holding the family's new cat (a very grumpy looking creature with orange fur and a squashed face), to his headboard. Hedwig made a low hoot.

"Yeah, I know, I'm usually at breakfast by now and you definitely deserve bacon, but I was up till two breaking my neck to stare at stars I can map in my sleep."

Astronomy was definitely a waste of time, considering his upbringing, though the theoretical stuff related to how it made magic work was interesting.

The boy rolled sideways to hang halfway off his bed as he wrestled his trunk into a vertical standing position. He touched one of the locks and the trunk sprang open like a cupboard door. Lights went on inside it and Harry glared at the magically proportioned personal office as if it offended him.

"What will it be, Hed? Jerky sound okay?"

The bird chirruped appreciatively and Harry stuck out his hand, screwing up his face. A moment later, a sealed plastic package flew into his fingers. Harry snapped the trunk shut again and ripped it open to reward his owl with one of the dehydrated strips of squid.

"I was expecting beef, but I guess Jenny saw we had some of that stuff from the Asian market left over," Harry commented as he took a bite for himself.

Hedwig continued ripping strips of the snack with her beak and gobbling them down with the occasional happy bird-of-prey cackle.

Harry munched a little more, himself, as he absently stroked her soft feathers.

"Is flying incredible, Hedwig? I get to learn today."

Shred. Rip. Swallow. Cackle-coo. Harry got out of bed and started to dress.

Harry's second Herbology and Charms lessons dragged on, even though he and Hermione used their recently learned _Incendio_ spell to combat the recently introduced Spiky Bush in the former, an apparently common magical weed that shot spikes at passerby for no good reason while it slowly strangled your potions ingredients.

By the end of the lesson, Hermione and Harry both could produce a steady stream of fire, but Harry's burnt more whitish-yellow while Hermione's flames remained stubbornly orange and red.

"How do you make it burn hotter?" she demanded as they directed their flames at the bushes threatening Professor Sprout's cabbage crop.

Harry had shrugged and willed his fire into a lasso to encircle and char a particularly stubborn Spiky Bush as it tried, in vain, to propel its spikes further toward them.

"I'm impatient. I told it _hotter_ and so it is."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. It's magic but I don't think it has sentience enough to _understand_ anything."

Rather than allow Hermione to be too putout, he suggested a friendly competition to see who could hit the bushes from further away. The competition grew to include several other Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, but Hermione won in the end. She could hurl a fireball from over twenty-five yards and hit the bushes dead-on.

"My mum takes me to her clay pigeon club twice a month," she said a little proudly when her housemates asked.

The wizless raised children were rather impressed. Harry was, too, but had inherited his parents' aversion to firearms so said nothing aside from congratulating Hermione on her success.

Harry personally wondered at the wisdom in teaching eleven and twelve-year-olds how to shoot fire at will, but couldn't complain as he benefited from the exercise. He was fairly certain he could recreate the spell without his wand now that he knew what the magic felt like.

Charms was less interesting without the fireballs flying through the air, and therefore far more difficult to bear. Harry wished he had a time machine. The _lumos_, or torchlight charm (as Harry was wont to call it) did not compare to the excitement presented by actually _flying_.

Finally, The bells tolled – a sound Harry had quickly come to love – to signal the end of third period and the beginning of fourth, and Harry shot up, grabbed Neville's arm and dragged him out of his seat before most could even gather their books.

"Come on, Neville! Time to learn to fly!"

Neville groaned but did his level best to stay caught up as Harry rushed down the hall, through the courtyard, down a staircase, through the entrance hall and out into another court yard all while avoiding the other several hundred students attempting to navigate the ground floor.

"I'm really not looking forward to it all that much," he complained.

"Don't worry. I'm sure the professor will catch you if you fall."

Harry slowed once they left the west courtyard and began descending the slope leading down to the smooth plane of the west lawn. The sky shined lovely, pale blue above them, and the sun felt warm enough that Harry wished he could take off his robe and roll up his sleeves. A light breeze made the sweet smelling, slightly long grass dance and sway in slow ripples ahead of them.

"So, what was that you got at breakfast this morning? I almost came over when Malfoy started making a prick of himself, but then McGonagall went over, so I figured everything was fine."

"Oh," Neville perked up a bit as he rummaged through one of his inner robe pockets.

He withdrew a clear glass ball roughly the size of a large marble and held it up to the sun. White smoke swirled inside it mysteriously.

"It's a rememberall. The smoke turns red when you've forgotten something. And don't worry about Malfoy. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I wish he'd grow up," Harry sighed. "We don't have to share a bedroom, but just being in the same dormitory as him drives me crazy, sometimes. He's a four foot and five inch tall plucked parrot."

Neville grinned as he put his gift away.

"So you don't all sleep in the same room?"

"No. Do you lot? What if someone snores especially loud?" Harry asked as he plopped down on the grass beside one of the neatly arranged broomsticks.

Neville groaned.

"Ron Weasley's okay most of the time," he said a little apologetically, "But he snores like he's really a wolf or a bear in disguise."

Harry laughed.

"Ask a prefect to do a silencing spell on his curtains."

Neville's eyes widened in comical relief, as if Harry had told him a relative was on the mend from a horrible illness.

"See? This is why I need a Slytherin around. I would have gone on not sleeping for the rest of the year or stuffing my ears with cotton wool."

Harry patted Neville on the back and they both got to their feet as the rest of Slytherin and Gryffindor approached, led by a woman with closely shorn steel-grey hair and tawny eyes. Several of the Gryffindors gave Neville or Harry nasty looks when they got close. Neville's shoulders slumped and his eyes slid to stare somewhere between his shoes and the broom beside him.

"Mr Potter," a woman with closely shorn steel-grey hair commanded. "Please pick one of the brooms on the left side to start the Slytherin line for roll-call."

Harry obligingly changed positions after a quick, encouraging pat to Neville's back. The other Slytherins joined him, Greengrass and Zabini at either of his sides. Malfoy bullied Nott away from the most gently used broom with Goyle and Crabbe at his flanks.

"Was Potter bothering you, Neville?" Harry heard Ron say as he took his place in the Gryffindor line. "You don't have to hang around with him just because he's rich and famous."

Harry rolled his eyes. Neville began to respond when Malfoy cut in.

"Why does it bother you who Potter employs as his pet, Weasley? Worried you're going to lose your squib sidekick? Oh, wait, you haven't enough money for a sidekick, do you?"

Several of the Slytherins laughed.

Harry shot Draco a cool glance. Weasley's face coloured an ugly red beneath the orange freckles.

"Enough of that," Madam Hooch barked. "You will remain civil in this class or you will be banned from flying for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts."

That shut them all up. Harry had to focus very hard not to grin. He liked this woman.

"What? Are we going to stare at the brooms all day or are we going to ride them? Address your broom from the left side, stick out your right hand and say 'up.'"

"Up!"

Everyone shouted the word at once, and Harry's broom jumped willingly into his hand. For a relic with bent twigs and age-worn handle, it practically vibrated beneath his fingers. His, however, was one of the few that responded so quickly. Neville's had given a bit of a lazy wiggle, but hadn't raised an inch off the ground. Lavender Brown, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle's brooms hadn't moved at all. Only Daphne, Tracy, Draco, Ron, and Patil had managed this step.

Madam Hooch allowed them to shout for a few moments longer before losing patience. Neville, Blaise, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Crabbe managed to call theirs just before the instructor blew her whistle.

"If you haven't called your broom to you by now, please sit out and watch until I give you further instructions. You aren't ready to try and mount, yet," she said not unkindly. "The rest of you, mount your brooms from the left. You should feel the cushioning charm under your rear and the broom should feel as if it is supporting your weight. If you feel _you're_ holding the broom up, please raise your dominant hand. The non-dominant or off hand remains on the broom at all times."

She then strode up and down the rows correcting their grips and helping them find their seats on the shoddy, but well-loved, school brooms until she felt the students commanded their stationary broomsticks to her satisfaction.

Harry took a little pleasure in watching as she corrected Malfoy's grip not once, but twice, as he had ignored her original instructions in favour of his own technique.

"No. You hold it like that and you'll break a wrist if you roll."

Ron practically crowed at the sight of his red-faced nemesis.

Finally, it seemed it was time to try flying. Madam Hooch held up her hand in one hand and her whistle in the other.

"When I blow my whistle, you will kick off from the ground hard. Keep steady, rise a few feet, and come on back down by leaning down just slightly. Keep both hands on your broom at all times."

She sent the Gryffindors and Ron Weasley a pointed glare. No doubt his twin brothers had caused mayhem during their first lesson.

"On my whistle! One… Two…"

Neville, anxious as he was to prove himself alongside his fellow Gryffindors, shot off like a rocket, higher, and higher, and higher as Madam Hooch yelled after him.

"Longbottom!" she screamed.

Harry watched in horror as his friend became a vague pinprick against the beautiful sky.

"Nev!" he shouted after him.

Malfoy and a few of his lot started laughing. Some of the Gryffindors began cheering. Harry felt sick. He saw it before Hooch did. Neville had begun to fall.

Before he could properly think what he was doing, he kicked off hard, leaving a swearing Hooch and a screaming class behind him.

The mad beating of Harry's heart seemed to fade for a moment as the effects of gravity slid around him as if _he_ dictated their pull rather than the other way around. Despite the terror of the situation, the very real danger as he soared up toward Neville's very quickly falling body, Harry had never felt more elated.

Flying was _easy_. Flying was like nothing he had felt before. Better than any thrill ride and a million times more exhilarating.

Harry flattened himself against the shaft of his old school broom as he whipped his wand from the holster on his left arm.

It had been less than five seconds since Harry had left the ground. Neville's limp body was very close now. He couldn't afford to miss him.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" Harry incanted, pointing his wand directly at his unconscious friend.

The spell hit him, Harry felt, but Neville was falling too fast for it to stop him. He only slowed by degrees, but it gave Harry time. He made a tight, neck-breaking turn that probably would have unseated him. The broom began to vibrate beneath him as he spun into a nosedive after Neville's still falling body. He leaned flat against the broom's handle.

"Come on, come on, you can do it," he hissed at it.

Five hundred feet. Two hundred feet. One hundred feet.

Harry was right on top of him, now. Madam Hooch was weaving some sort of magic below. The children were screaming. Harry pushed the broom harder, his legs clamped hard around the shaft of the broom. He was flying faster than terminal velocity. Neville was finally even with him. He spun in a vertical barrel roll and caught Neville hard around the waist before pulling the broom up to a jerky, shuddering stop.

The screaming stopped. Harry's hands shook as he clung to his friend, heavier than he imagined him to be, as they sunk slowly back to earth at the top of a hill nearby the breathless class.. Harry lowered Neville gently to lie on the grass and he slid off his broom to sit beside him. The grass felt wonderful and cool beneath his hands, and Harry realized he had been quite terrified for those last long seconds. He sniffed. Something smelled odd. He couldn't help it. He laughed and performed a quick, wandless drying charm. Fortunately, no one had crested the hill and so didn't notice as steam rose from Neville's pants.

A raucous cheer rose up from the Gryffindors, quickly joined by many of the Slytherins, as they came over the top of the hill to see them sprawled, alive and well, on the ground. Harry rose shakily to his feet as Madam Hooch rushed over, followed by a clearly enraged Professor McGonagall.

"Never! Never in all my years-" she spluttered, the words heavily curled by her Scottish brogue.

"Potter, you could have killed yourself!" Madam Hooch shouted.

Harry hung his head. He didn't regret what he did, but even he could admit it wasn't very smart. He hadn't even known he could fly before a few minutes ago.

"Did I not say to wait? What if you had dropped him?"

"I…" Harry looked down as Neville stirred and sat up, clearly confused. "Well," he tried not to smile. "I thought if I just slowed him down enough, maybe it would buy you time to catch him, and if you couldn't, I thought I could slow him until he was low enough to bounce."

Everyone stared at him as if he had suddenly grown eight very hairy legs and a dozen new eyes. Harry met Neville's gaze and they both burst out laughing.

The Professors faces, different expressions of obvious alarm, made them laugh even harder.

"Potter! Longbottom! Explain yourselves at once!" McGonagall finally ordered, levitating them both so they floated at eye level before her.

Neville managed to stop giggling and wiped his eyes.

"I- I'm sorry, Professor. When I was little, my first accidental magic was to bounce when I fell out a fourth story window."

"What?" Hooch goggled. "What?"

"He bounced all the way from the garden to the lane," Harry added amidst breathless laughter.

"Perhaps I should take them both up to Poppy, Min," Madam Hooch whispered. "I think they're hysterical."

McGonagall gave her a curt nod.

"A calming draught would do them some good, I think," she agreed before turning her steely gaze back on Harry. "I shan't be reporting this incident to your head of house, for now, Mr Potter, as it seems you made a measured decision to assist your classmate. Obviously you know how to fly, so while your own risk may have been minimal, you might bear in mind the potential injury you could have caused young Mr Longbottom in your attempt to help him, not to mention the added stress to those who would have controlled the situation faster without having to anticipate your stupidity."

Harry winced.

"Please leave the safety of your fellow students in the hands of your professors, next time. Ten points lost for your rashness."

The Slytherins groaned. Harry stopped smiling as he waited for the rest of his verdict.

McGonagall's mouth twitched.

"And twenty points for your selfless act of courage," she said a little more quietly, but not quite softly enough that the others didn't hear. "Your father would have done the same, no doubt."

Harry kept his head bowed, unwilling to seem proud when it seemed he was getting off the hook so easily.

"Now off you go," she said, ending her levitation charm. "Go ask Madam Pomfrey for a calming draught."

Harry and Neville nodded, gathered their bags, returned Harry's borrowed broom, and took off for the castle on still-shaking legs.

"How far did I fall?" Neville asked, still leaning a little on Harry for support.

"Far enough that I had time to fly up and catch you, just barely."

"Thanks, Harry," Neville sniffled.

"Oi, none of that. It's okay. You're fine. Now you've got a mad story to tell everyone. And, when people ask you why Harry Potter tried to save you, you can tell him I thought you'd bounce."

Neville laughed weakly.

"What's that smell?" he asked as they reached the stairs to the entrance hall.

"Don't worry about it, Nev. Just go up and change after you've been checked out."

Madam Pomfrey flew into a Grandma Jackie-worthy tizzy upon their arrival and explanation of "flying accident."

Neville, who had gone from hysteria to weak-kneed relief, sat docilely and accepted Madam Pomfrey's care. Harry, on the other hand, absolutely refused to remain in the hospital wing past the mandatory half-hour waiting period following his recommended dose of calming potion. The healer, however, felt he should wait another thirty minutes to an hour before leaving, just to be sure.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey," he begged. "I'm absolutely fine. _I_ didn't even fall. I just caught Neville. Didn't fall. Not in shock. Not laughing like a maniac anymore."

"You will stay right there while I consult your head of house!"

Harry paled.

"On second thought, I'll stay. Can't hurt, can it?"

The woman pursed her lips.

"Of course it can't. Now lie down. I won't make you change."

Madam Pomfrey bustled off as Harry slid onto the bed beside Neville's. A kip sounded pretty good, actually, now that the adrenalin was leaving his system. He could now think about other things, like how angry Professor Snape would be when he found out, which he would from Malfoy if no one else. He was suddenly very glad professors generally didn't contact no-wiz parents. He couldn't imagine how angry his mum would be if she found out, or Jenny.

She, especially, hated it when he did stupid things. She was awfully vengeful for a five-year-old.

"Harry," Neville murmured.

"Yeah, Nev?"

"Thank you. You probably saved my life."

"Don't mention it. We're friends."

Harry drifted off to sleep. He dreamed strange dreams. Someone wrapped him up in a blanket and buried him in garlic and oil. When he woke, he had a horrible headache and craved pizza like he never had before. He wondered if his dad would send him some.

"Mr Potter," a forbidding voice called. "Did you enjoy your afternoon nap?"

Harry sat up straight and ignored the resultant spots that swam before his eyes.

"Professor Snape, sir," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, I meant to come to you sooner."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape drawled in a dangerously light tone. "You've behaved most honourably this afternoon. I merely meant to ensure your wellbeing since you missed Dinner."

Harry shuddered. Professor Snape was being _nice_ in _public_.

"I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you, Professor." Harry said again.

The potions master waved a dismissive hand.

"How very fortunate you kept your wits about you in Mr Longbottom's moment of crisis. No doubt the _poor boy_ –"

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Every instinct urged him to run, for this man was very, very, very upset with him. He noticed Neville's breathing was too quiet for him to be truly sleeping, and hoped his friend had the sense to keep pretending.

"– would have snapped his neck if not for your, ah, _heroism_."

Harry attempted to school his features into the mask he'd witnessed on so many other Slytherins. He dropped his voice into a stage whisper.

"I thought it the best move to make, Professor Snape. How could I let the only scion of a long-sworn allied family fall to his death when I had the ability to help? It would have been a waste of good magical stock."

Madam Pomfrey sniffed rather loudly.

"If you're quite well, Mr Potter, you may leave."

Harry nodded and stood along with his head of house.

"Thank you for your care, Madam Pomfrey," he said with a short bow.

The matron sniffed again.

"Stay out of trouble next time."

Professor Snape held the door for Harry as he preceded him out into the corridor.

"Is that truly why you chose to act so rashly?" Snape growled as soon as the door swung shut once more.

Harry looked up at him for a long moment as they walked back toward the entrance hall.

"In a way, sir, yes. He's my friend, but I chose to befriend him because I knew our families were once close, according to the social columns dated back before the war."

"Hmm."

The professor led the way down the dungeon stairwell.

"You will, of course, face the judgment of your peers. As you miraculously avoided punishment at the hands of my Gryffindor counterpart…"

Snape sneered, and Harry knew this conversation would have gone quite differently had he not.

"…Well, I suppose I must take advantage of her tacit approval of your actions and recommend you as seeker to our house quidditch team. Be warned, however, your minimum academic average will remain equal to that of your peers. Fail to perform in either duty and you shall face my currently withheld wrath. Is that understood?"

The professor spun on his heel to glare down at him.

"I, for one, _do not_ approve of your actions today, no matter the reason. They were rash and ill conceived. You risked the standing of your house. Always remember, the status of Slytherin supersedes your own."

Harry nodded.

"Yes, professor. I won't forget."

"See that you do not."

They stared at one another for a while longer, half way between the potions labs and the archway leading to the Slytherin common room.

"Off with you. Call for a house elf in your room and one will provide you with sustenance."

Harry nodded, thanked professor Snape again, and rushed to his dormitory. As he expected, most of the first years and many of the upper years waited to ambush him, but he danced around their questions fairly easily while keeping a smirk on his face. It wasn't that hard, really. He's defied death, made the quidditch team (which he hadn't had any interest in before, but now that he'd _flown_, he'd take just about any excuse to get back in the air), and saved the life of a fellow student all while claiming _politics_.

Harry raised his hands for quiet just outside the archway leading down to the boys' dormitories.

"Why do you _think_ I did it?" he asked them all. "If you can't figure it out, perhaps you're not as worthy to play the game as you think."

There. That would leave them arguing about it for hours. Harry turned and strolled down the stairs as if it were any other night, crossed through the first year study den, and shut his bedroom door behind him with a soft snap.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Hedwig hooted at him once, swept over to him to nibble his hair, and swooped back up the air vent out of sight.

"House elf?" he called experimentally.

A loud _pop!_ echoed off his eardrums and a small, toddler-sized being with very large, bat-like ears and bulbous, shining eyes curtsied at him. It wore a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest across its vaguely leathery body.

"Is young Master Potter needing something, sir?" it said in a very high, squeaky voice.

Harry blinked and unstuck his jaw.

"Hello. Yes, please. Can I ask what your name is?"

The little house elf curtsied again.

"I is being Cuddie, young Master Potter."

Harry smiled and gently offered her his hand to shake. Cuddie's already large eyes widened and glistened strangely as she took one of Harry's fingers in her tiny hand.

"Professor Snape told me you could help me get some late tea if you don't mind very much. You see, I missed dinner."

"Oh!" Cuddie squealed. "Cuddie would be very glad to fetch Master Potter his supper. What would Master Potter like?

Harry sighed and sat back on the edge of his bed.

"You wouldn't happen to have any stew in the cold cupboard, would you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Master Potter!" Cuddie enthused. "Cuddie shall fetch it for you right away."

Two successive pops, three curtsies, another handshake, and two thank-yous later, Harry sat on his bed with a truly extravagant silver tray laden with a hot tureen of stew, a loaf of his favourite dark bread, a silver bowl of chilled, whipped honey butter, a plate of cheeses and fruits, a small decanter of chilled pumpkin juice, a pitcher of iced water, a pot of earl gray tea complete with a matching sugar bowl and creamer. It all came complete with the crest-stamped plate and silverware used in the great hall at dinner.

"Wow," he said appreciatively.

His stomach grumbled, but before he tucked into his later supper, he snapped a photo.

"We've got to hire a house-elf," he groaned as he had his first spoonful of delicious, rich lamb stew.

Dinner eaten, crowd controlled, Neville safely ensconced in Madam Pomfrey's care, and status won within Slytherin house, Harry washed up for bed and sat down at his writing desk. He unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen and pulled out the cream coloured stationary the Doctor bought him along with his birthday gifts.

_Dear Mum, Dad and Jenny,_

He paused, staring at the page.

_Today I flew on a broomstick and learned to shoot fireballs with a wave of my wand. Hermione's got better aim, though. I may be becoming a pyromaniac, anyway. _

_I'm doing well and I'll keep your advice in mind. I've also managed a spot on my house's quidditch team, so I think I'll be making some friends here, soon._

_Jen, I haven't forgotten. I'll make it a priority this weekend. It's just been really busy. I'll send more photos as soon as they're developed._

_Also, look up house elves and see if we can hire one. I just had the most amazing service of my life, including that one time we stayed at that five-star resort._

_Love you all._

_-Harry_

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A/N: Let me know how you feel about Snape. When I started writing this, I was fully prepared to make him as much as a jerk as ever, but factoring in the differences the Doctor's made in Harry's early development, I thought I'd try something different. But, as always, only time will tell.

I'll be trying to pick up the pace from here on outward, as far as the year's timing goes. Don't worry, Hermione fans. She will be one of Harry's very closest friends, at the very least. Keep in mind, I'm not declaring final pairings until it's absolutely obvious way down the line. It's not primarily a romance, however, so don't hold your breath just yet.


	8. Fairies, Headaches and Trolls

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: This one's going to be a bit sweet, a bit serious, and a lot of fun. Happy reading. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

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Fairies, Headaches and Trolls

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_**September 8, 2012**_

"Why-"

Neville huffed and wheezed as he jogged to catch up to Harry.

"Are we running?"

He squeezed the words between laboured, rattling breaths. One of his hands clutched a stitch in his side. Harry turned to run in place as he faced his unconditioned but dedicated friend.

"Because I'm going to be doing somersaults in midair come October, and I don't want anyone to outfly me or knock me off my broom," Harry explained. "I did say you could wait until after to join me."

Neville clutched his knees but shook his head. Sweat poured off his face and his badly cut, dirty blonde bangs clung to his brow in sticky clumps.

"It's good for me. Besides, what if I need to save you someday?"

Harry sighed and smiled.

"If you're sure, Nev. But take it easy, okay? I've been running for years and years conditioning for footie. You've already run more today than I expect most wiz kids have in their whole lifetimes."

The slightly pudgy boy shook his head again and continued his shuffling run as Harry took off again.

"What's 'footie'?" he groaned.

"Non-wiz game a little like quidditch. Bunch of players try to take the ball down the pitch by kicking and passing it. Lots of running involved."

"That sounds awful," Neville hissed, his face the picture of misery.

"If you're not conditioned, it is. But that's why we trained like this. Every other day, we'd run a few miles, do a few drills, so whenever we had a match it was a blast."

Neville couldn't seem to accept the possibility 'fun' and 'running' could coexist harmoniously, but Harry didn't mind. They kept going as they began their second lap around the lake. As Neville flagged, Harry slowed and lifted his knees higher with each step. By the time they came back around to the west bank, he was watching to make sure his determined friend didn't pass out or vomit, or both.

"You did great," Harry congratulated. "Next time, we'll start out at a slower pace, though, okay? And you can join me for the second lap and not do the first for a while. It's over a mile and a half around, I think."

Neville nodded weakly and tucked his head between his knees.

"I think I'll follow your advice next time. I feel horrible."

Harry pat Neville's shoulder sympathetically.

"Go on and grab a kip. We'll be experimenting again tomorrow afternoon, anyway. I've got a different project planned for today."

Neville nodded and rose to make his way, sweating and exhausted to the hospital wing for an easy-access bed and a pepper-up potion, leaving Harry to his stretches.

An hour later, he left his common room freshly showered and dressed from his room to seek out Hermione. He had a mission to accomplish by curfew. Having called the castle elves a few times since his original encounter with one, Harry had a fairly good idea where the kitchens were. Based on Hermione's description and his observations of the comings and goings of Hufflepuff house, he had built a hypothesis of its common room address, too.

This led him to stand in the corridor to the kitchens across from an out-of-the-way nook in which a stack of barrels rest innocuously against the wall. Each one was wider than Harry was tall and each looked exactly like the others, down to the very last tap. It was their uniformity that gave them away, in Harry's opinion.

He had to tread carefully. He'd told Hermione he'd meet her in her common room, and she had accepted his word without questioning his logic. Rather, she accepted Harry wanted to test himself. So, there he stood, on the other side of the hidden Hufflepuff entrance, hoping he had developed his magical sensitivity enough to find the difference between one barrel and the others.

He knew from observing some Hufflepuff first years that a wrong pass code rewarded potential intruders by dousing them in vinegar so strongly aged it had to be elf-washed before the smell left one's clothes, though it didn't linger on skin or hair. The pass code itself didn't pose any challenge. He'd overheard a prefect telling her younger charges about the nuances in rhythm that could potentially result in a day smelling like fish 'n chips, but other than managing to rap "Hel-ga Huf-fle-puff" at the correct tempo, it wasn't difficult.

"But which one are you?" Harry wondered aloud.

He had closed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, dived behind his mental wall and meditated for several minutes across from the barrels. He had been at it so long he'd drawn the attention of several curious and concerned Hufflepuffs.

To his delight, however, no one tried to stop him.

"The way we figure it," Gabriel Truman, one of the 'Puff Prefects, had put it, "If you have the dedication to sit out here and go at it until you find it without cheating, we'll make you an honorary 'Puff."

That was two hours ago.

He stared again at the stubbornly identical barrel lids and reviewed the rules mentally.

1) Don't get the rhythm wrong.

2) Don't knock on the wrong barrel.

3) Don't get it wrong once and try again. The entrance will not open if a magical signature tried once before in error within a certain time period, even if the person gets it right.

He chewed the inside of his lower lip as he thought of his next course of action. He really _didn't_ want to shower again, and if he wanted to fulfil his promise to his sister _and_ beat his self-imposed challenge on the same day, Harry really needed to get inside the Badger's den _soon_.

Also, Hermione would tease him mercilessly. She had wholeheartedly embraced the Hufflepuffs-don't-compete-with-one-another-outside-classroom-exercises rule, and so she now looked to Harry and the top-ranked Ravenclaws to challenge her rather healthy competitive spirit.

The eleven-year-old boy breathed deep, closed his eyes, and focused again. So far, he'd avoided touching the barrels at all in fear of the vinegar shower, but he didn't see how else he could figure it out. Gingerly, he stepped blindly forward and brushed his fingers as silently as he could across the surface of the nearest barrel. He held his breath and squeezed his mouth shut just in case.

A second passed, then another before he felt safe in breathing normally again.

The magic of the secret entrance and the castle as a whole thrummed beneath his fingertips. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue, like ozone and petrichor before a big thunderstorm. Harry ran his fingers over the wood until he reached the edge and moved on to the next barrel and the next, chasing the elusive sweetness beneath the now familiar flavour that was Hogwarts. The tickle grew stronger and stronger until Harry thought he could almost identify the taste, until, finally, he stopped.

He opened his eyes to find himself staring at the middle barrel on the second row. His mouth tasted of honeysuckles at the height of spring.

"I feel stupid," he griped as he examined the apparent entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitory.

Of course, it was in the middle. And of course, it was just high enough that it wouldn't trouble any first-year to climb through with the door swung open. He supposed that while magic could accommodate for apparently impossible physics, Helga had thought this was better. Obviously, he should have considered the simple solution more seriously before wasting the last two hours sitting on his bum. He shrugged. Oh well.

Harry rapped the rhythm to "Helga Hufflepuff" on the door and it swung silently open. He hoisted himself up easily and walked down the tunnel, following the warm yellowish light ahead of him.

The Hufflepuff common room felt as cosy as the Slytherin one felt mysteriously luxurious. Wide, recessed circular windows toward the top of the domed ceiling revealed views of swaying grass, wildflowers and dandelions. A glass-covered oculus at the centre of the dome filled the room with warm sunlight, beneath which a low-walled circular garden thrived encircled by a narrow, burbling stream walled by a burnished copper rim. Other plants hummed, danced and fluttered about the room in the windowsills, suspended from the ceiling, or potted around the edge of the room between the soft swaths of yellow hangings. Overstuffed sofas and armchairs sat in clusters around the room. Seven rounded wooden archways led out of the common room at even intervals, all spaced in relation to the arched fireplace roaring merrily across from the room's entrance. Its honey-coloured, wooden mantelpiece danced with moving depictions of miniscule badgers frolicking across its surface.

Hermione lay sprawled by the circular garden upon a thick carpet of multi-shade yellow, bathed in sunlight as she read a large book.

"Who're you?" a huge flowering plant asked him as he passed.

A few Hufflepuffs congratulated him for finding the entrance and she looked up with a rueful grin.

"You said we were meeting over an hour ago," she reminded him.

"Yes, well, I'm not as clever as I thought or I would have given myself more time," Harry joked as he ran a hand through his hair. "Still want to help me?"

"Sure."

She closed her book and it scuttled off to join a pile stacked near a large armchair.

"What are doing, again?" she asked as they left the Badgers' den, Harry in the lead.

"We're going hunting for a rock."

Hermione grunted as she jumped down from the barrel after Harry.

"A rock? You made me wait up for you over a rock? I thought we were going to test out that room again," she hissed.

She did not look pleased.

"Susan and Hannah invited me on a picnic!"

"Shh, let me finish!" Harry said before she could spiral off into a rant. "When I left for Hogwarts, my sister was really upset, right?"

Hermione's agitated features softened a little, so Harry ploughed on, blushing all the while.

"I made her this daft gooey promise I'd never stop being her brother or whatever, and I promised I'd carve it in a Hogwarts stone for her if she wanted and send it to her."

Harry shrugged and looked anywhere but at Hermione. He would have preferred to undertake this particular mission on his own, but he couldn't afford to get caught doing something weird by himself lest he land on Snape's boil-in-acid list. With Hermione, he'd have a lookout.

"She's five and our family isn't so good at making friends with normal people. We're all a bit bonkers."

"I believe _that_," Hermione teased. "Fine. Let's go find your stupid rock and _then_ let's try to make that room show up again."

"Deal."

* * *

Harry and Hermione ducked behind a flutterby bush as an enraged swarm of fairies flew overhead. The two children laughed behind their hands until they couldn't see the glow of their tiny multicoloured bodies any longer.

"Well that was a bad idea," Harry whispered.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I told you normal rocks weren't that reflective."

"How was I supposed to know they were using it as a mirror?"

Hermione's mouth puckered in annoyance as she picked bits of dried leaves and bracken off the skirt of her blue cotton sundress.

"I don't know. The mushroom circle? The little leaves curled up like tiny tents?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry complained.

He sucked a little gingerly on the bite he'd received on his right hand. Fairies weren't poisonous like their doxy cousins, but they still had very sharp teeth.

"By the time I realized what I was looking at, you'd tried to grab it."

The boy sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

"Sorry. Should have been more careful, I guess. But really, this shouldn't be that hard!"

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed, clapping a hand over Harry's mouth.

A few crows took off from the nearby treetops, cawing at the disturbance.

"Ugh…"

Harry didn't know how finding a stupid rock could be so freakishly difficult. They had started on the west side of the lake over an hour ago, but most of the stones were either too large or too small to be of any use to Harry's purposes. They'd asked Hagrid, but his idea of "pretty rock" and "manageable" led them to a spot at the bottom of the cliffs upon which Hogwarts rested, where they encountered some very irritable crabs only _pretending_ to be smooth, purple and green river stones the size of dinner plates. And though there _were_ a few discarded shells on the beach, there was no way either Harry or Hermione was going to brave those snapping claws to get to them.

Afterward, they'd gone from one cluster of rocks or trees to another. They found plenty of rocks in all the sizes colours and shapes Harry deemed unsuitable until, that is, they encountered the mirror-like oval of smooth purple crystal hidden away in a little copse of trees just near the Hogwarts gates. Harry had barely touched it when the fairies attacked with their sharp teeth and needle-like fingers.

He was frankly loosing hope. There must be something dreadfully wrong with the world when a boy couldn't find a stupid rock.

"What have we here, Fred?"

Hermione poked Harry in the arm and he twisted his neck to stare up at the Weasley twins' identical faces peering over the top of their hiding spot.

"I dunno, George. Harry Potter and a firstie friend, it looks like."

"Harry's a first-year too, you know," Hermione complained.

"Perhaps, but he's legendary. He annoyed McGonagall and _won_ points. No one's ever done that in the history of McGonagall," said George.

"And _we'd_ know, as we've frustrated her to the point of frenzy," said Fred.

"Fury, even." George finished.

"So," they began again, in unison this time. "What _are_ you up to?"

"Trying to find my sister a present," Harry griped.

As amusing as he usually found the twins, he'd been bitten, clawed, scraped and bruised in the past hour and he was rather tired of the experience.

"A gift you say?"

"A gift, indeed, dear George."

"We, my good Master Snake Lord, can help," they chorused.

Harry groaned and stood slowly, mindful of the rather large bruise he'd sustained to the leg earlier, attempting to run away from the supernaturally fast crabs.

"Sorry, gents, but I need something specific."

Hermione nodded and stood just as gingerly. She hadn't escaped unscathed.

"You're looking for a rock-" one began in a singsong voice.

"A stone-" the other continued.

"Though we don't know why you'd want more-"

"Seeing as you've got plenty of your own!" they finished together.

"But as it so happens, we know where you can find the perfect sample of Hogwarts masonry _within_ the castle. No need to keep roughing it out here."

Tired, testy and not a little hopeful the twins weren't messing with them, Harry and Hermione followed the Gryffindors back into the castle after a few well-placed _scourgify_ charms and a minor cooling charm applied directly to Harry's trouser leg to help soothe his bruise.

The first years stared at the bricked up arch before them in bemusement.

"This is a prefects' bathroom," Harry remarked.

"Yes, yes it is," Fred assured him.

"If you're making more jokes about bollocks–"

Hermione blushed.

"–I'm _really_ not in the mood."

George grinned.

"Really, We're not. Just go on into any of the stalls and take your pick."

"Gabriel's right about you two," Hermione declared. "You're both completely mad."

The twins sighed and shrugged.

"We try to help-"

"And this is how they repay us."

"How disappointing."

Harry sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last few hours.

"Fine. Let's see what you've got, gentlemen."

He stepped forward through the bricked archway pretending to be a wall and entered one of the many marble-walled stalls. He blinked.

"You have _got_ to be joking."

There was a brief, metallic crunching sound before Harry emerged from the pretend-wall, clutching a toilet seat sculpted from solid, polished rose quartz.

"You _can't _be serious," Hermione giggled.

The twins and Harry burst into rich laughter.

* * *

_**September 12, 2012**_

_Dear Jenny,_

_I couldn't ever forget a sister as annoying as you. And don't worry. This isn't your birthday present. Expect that on the day of._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Jenny pocketed the note struggled to flip the roughly oval-shaped parcel to attack the neat knots securing it on the other side.

"Mum!" she called when her fingers proved unskilled in unknotting them.

"What is it?" Rose shouted back from the tree house upstairs.

"I got a present from Harry but I can't undo the string!"

"There's safety scissors hiding in the one really ugly flower pot," Rose yelled. "But so help me if you try to give the kitten a hair-cut again, Jenny Renette, you can forget that surprise later!"

"Okaaay!"

Jenny hefted the heavy parcel into her arms and marched back inside, Hedwig, Harry's beautiful snowy owl, perched on her shoulder. The owl was still an adolescent, according to the Doctor, and so just barely managed to cling to the little girl's narrow shoulder as she went through the house. An orange cat with a squashed face followed behind them like a fluffy, bandy-legged shadow.

The girl stood on tiptoe to reach the very ugly duck-shaped flowerpot her mum kept tucked on a bookshelf in the corner of the games room. She shoved her whole arm in its wide, silently quacking mouth and wiggled her fingers until she felt the hard plastic grips of her previously banished crafting scissors.

Equipped with the proper tools, the heavyweight twine barring her from the parcel quickly fell away, leaving Jenny free to rip, tear and shred her way to the surprise within. Whatever it was sparkled in shades of pale to rosy pink whenever the sunlight hit it. Hedwig and Sir Wibbly watched with cocked heads as their human child worked the remaining brown paper off the mysterious stone object.

Jenny pouted. What was it? The side facing her was completely flat and the other, more rounded side felt like someone had gouged bit of it off. She flipped it over with a little effort and grinned as she recognized the letters, even if she didn't recognize the handwriting.

"Mummy!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Hedwig and Sir Wibbly retreated in the wake of her shrill cry of doom.

"What?" Rose shouted back, her voice muffled by several feet of open air, most of a garden and part of the games room wall.

"Harry sent me a promise on a Hogwarts toilet seat!"

A moment of silence passed in which Hedwig and Sir Wibbly blinked at one another and ducked their heads to protect their sensitive ears.

"How marvellous!" the Doctor shouted.

"He nicked a toilet seat?" Rose yelled.

Jenny giggled and ran to show her mum and dad Harry's gift.

* * *

_**October 20, 2012**_

Harry slumped into one of the tree house beanbags before the huge screen mounted on the wall. Hermione and Neville picked their favourite seating, a yellow and red bag respectively, and pulled them closer to Harry's sides. Neville started setting out the snacks Hermione had brought from the kitchens in lieu of going down to lunch. She un-stoppered the three bottles of butterbeer Neville so graciously donated. Harry did his utmost to not fall asleep.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind. After the first week, classes settled into an easy rhythm interspersed with personal conditioning, weekend experimenting with the mysterious room, and once-weekly quidditch practice supervised by Madam Hooch through the end of September. Of course, the beginning of October brought him an entirely new practice experience, but even that had only helped to speed his weeks along.

Thankfully, they had no trouble reopening the room just as they remembered it, and Hermione was further delighted to discover its abilities extended even further beyond its already miraculous track record. Neville got quite good at summoning whatever he wanted, including places he had never seen before. Somehow, he instinctively grasped what the telepathic field needed to construct the place he desired.

They made themselves a swimming pool, the interior of a submarine (after Harry and Hermione described it), the Hogwarts Library (at Hermione's insistence), the Ravenclaw common room (at Harry's curiosity), and a place none of them had ever seen before: Pharaoh Tutankhamen's burial chamber (which they cross-checked against pictures the Doctor showed them on the screen).

They also attempted connecting with Hermione and Neville's homes by asking for a room with the same functionality as Harry's mirrored tree house, but so far neither had worked.

That led to a very long and detailed letter to the Doctor reporting their findings, after which Harry's father spent the better part of October experimenting on _his_ tree house to see what made it unique. The tests had been inconclusive as of yet, but hadn't stopped them from using the connection in the meantime.

As it was, Harry's parents had asked for a meeting to update the kids on another project in the works. The Doctor and Rose had tracked down the correct department in the Ministry of Magic responsible for maintaining children's birth and custody records. As of the following Monday, Mr John Smith of Melbourne would be joining the Ministry of Magic as a second shift clerk in the department of citizen records. Mrs Roselyn Smith, as a squib handy with muggle technology, would be working second shift in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office completing and filing paperwork part-time, as needed.

Harry yawned. He wasn't sure how long he could wait before he fell victim to his very long day.

"Harry!" the Doctor crowed as the screen hummed to life in crystal-clear clarity.

"Hi Dad," Harry mumbled, half-melted into his beanbag.

The Doctor seemed to pout a bit at Harry's lacklustre greeting.

"You look out of sorts," he commented. "Anything wrong?"

"Ugh."

"Oh, very eloquent, Harry," Hermione scolded. "The Slytherins are beating him up at his quidditch practices."

"No they're not," Harry protested weakly.

"Shut up, mate. She's right," Neville countered.

"Why're you taking her side?" Harry complained. "I'm just knackered, Dad. I've got two practices a week on top of classes and homework, and I've been trying to get conditioned again, not to mention the constant headaches I've been getting lately."

The Gryffindor and the Hufflepuff frowned as Harry sunk ever deeper into his friendly beanbag chair.

"Any nightmares?" Rose asked, leaning over the Doctor's shoulder, sporting a blunt, shoulder length haircut in a colour not far off from Jenny's coppery locks.

Harry shook his head and groaned as he reached for a roast beef sandwich.

"Mrs Tyler, I like your new hairstyle," Hermione complimented.

Rose smiled.

"Thanks, love. So does Jen, but I think I'll always be a blonde on the inside. We're going undercover so we thought I should change it up."

The black-haired blob of pre-teen exhaustion sat up straighter at that news.

"What about Jen?"

"Staying with Gran, Gramps and Uncle Tony," the Doctor answered.

"Deep cover or is post okay?" Harry asked after he swallowed another bite.

The Doctor scratched his chin and squinted one of his eyes as he conducted a brief internal debate.

"Post's fine. Use aliases. We're exploring wizarding territory, anyhow. You might want to use another owl, though. Hedwig's great, but she stands out. Snowies aren't all that common anywhere this far south, from what the gentlemen at Eyelops told us. Even as post owls."

Harry nodded and sank back again. The Doctor, Rose, Neville and Hermione took the opportunity to catch up on various subjects as Harry tucked into his sandwich. But, half way through the over-stuffed tower of roast beef, cheddar cheese, lettuce and roast tomato, his plate slid off his lap and rolled to skid, rattling, to the floor. His head slumped against his shoulder and everyone's faces fell a little, the Doctor's especially.

"Kids, how's he doing, really?" Rose half-whispered.

Neville sighed as he corked Harry's unfinished butterbeer.

"Really not good. I'm not great mates with any of his house, but Greengrass and I used to holiday on the same lake before her dad died. I asked her, and she said Harry's up past midnight most nights with homework by the fire. She says no one bothers him or anything because he's their seeker, but…"

Hermione scowled and speared some salad with a little more force than absolutely necessary. The tines of her fork scraped gratingly against her plate.

"His teammates aren't fair players, either," she hissed. "I think they're hazing him in practices. He always comes back completely exhausted and bruised more often than not. I saw him fall asleep in his pudding last night, and they were serving treacle."

"He loves treacle," the Doctor said in high-pitched alarm.

"And he's been complaining about the headaches since just after our first flying lesson," Neville added. "I don't think they ever go away."

"Doesn't sound good, at all," Rose agreed, worrying her lower lip. "I wish we were there. Do look after him, won't you? We'll try our best to get some new information on this end."

Hermione and Neville both nodded.

"We will."

"Of course Doctor and Mrs Tyler," Hermione agreed. "Do give my parents a ring for me?"

"I'll tell Jean you're well. Bye kids."

Rose exited the range of the screen and the Doctor dropped his voice into a low rumble.

"Keep an eye on him," he ordered. "If the headaches get worse, someone send me a message. Hedwig's good for that. I don't like any of what I've been hearing. I'm looking into the third floor business and some other items to see if we can make it a little easier for him. In the meantime, keep the rules in mind."

The screen went dark.

* * *

_**October 31, 2012**_

The castle swam with activity, all _live bats_ and _dancing skeletons_ and _gigantic jack-o-lanterns,_ among which the students of Hogwarts frolicked as they relaxed after classes. Harry watched it all from the sunbathed balcony on the east side of the clock tower. Hedwig perched heavily on his shoulder, grown a quarter of her original size since his family adopted her.

"I hate Halloween," he murmured, stroking the owl's soft white feathers.

Hedwig gave a short series of shrieks.

Since morning, a different sort of whisper had been running through the castle after him quite unlike the usual garbage.

"Do you think he remembers what _he_ looked like?"

"Do you think he remembers it at all?"

"I wonder if the Potters knew how powerful their kid would be and that's why they went into hiding."

"Do you think he remembers killing _him_ and that's why he's not afraid to say the name?

And those were the kinder comments.

"I wonder if it's why the Hat put him in Slytherin."

"If his adopted parents are really wizards, they're probably ex-Death Eaters. I bet that's why he's so good at everything."

"Why else would they have kept him secret for so long?"

"He's even better than Granger and the Ravenclaw Patil."

"I bet You-Know-Who didn't want any competition and killed his mum so she couldn't make any more of them."

By the time his afternoon classes ended, Harry was sick of them all. Even the non-wizard-born kids bought into the hype as the day wore on. Hermione, as good a friend as she was, just told him to ignore it. She suggested they all hang out in the tree house, but without the potential to talk to his mum and dad, Harry didn't really want to be there. Her backup strategy was to deconstruct, with extreme prejudice, the logic of each new piece of gossip whilst summarily dismissing the intelligence and moral worth of the perpetrators.

Eventually, Neville – bless him – nicely asked Hermione to shut it and told Harry to get away for the evening, at least until the feast. Harry had gladly accepted, which led him to climb up to the balcony on the east side of the clock tower facing the rest of the castle. A while into his vigil, Hedwig had joined him. He watched as the shadows stretching across the courtyard below grew longer and as the sky bled from grey-blue to inky velvet at the edges and orangey-pink at the horizon.

He wasn't sure if he was truly sad. After all, Harry had never _known_ his parents. He didn't even have memories, really, just faint impressions. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon made him feel at home, though Rose had never used either fragrance at their house. She was a crisp apple and magnolia sort of person. And though he'd known for a very long time his parents died violently and prematurely in his defence, Harry hadn't had much a reason to mourn. He had never _felt_ like an orphan before he came to Hogwarts. And while his mum and dad helped him remember them every Halloween, the experience had never been tainted with very much sadness so much as gratefulness. However, being in the wizarding world had awakened in him a new appreciation of the man and woman who had sired him.

There were books written about James and Lily Potter, Lord and Lady of the same name, Hereditary Peers of Her Majesty's Wizengamot. In them, he learned the story of how two very different strangers had met and fallen in love as they rebelled against an ethnocentric and tyrannical ideology.

Along with a group of unsanctioned freedom fighters, they had resisted Lord Voldemort's attempts for recruitment, defended those who could not defend themselves, and succeeded in arresting or assisting in the arrest of several in the Death Eater organisation.

Then, they'd gone into hiding to protect their unborn child, and eventually died in defending him as a very young toddler. It was sad, true, but he didn't understand the extent of their heroism and sacrifice until now.

His year only contained forty students. Second year ranked hardly better with eighty-nine and third year with one hundred and fifteen. The average before the war had hovered around three hundred students per year group, an average over a hundred students greater than any of the current counts. Only forty first-year children's parents had survived or remained in the UK long enough to conceive them.

To hear his schoolmates say such horrible things about the night they died for him, and them, really, since whatever they did stopped the carnage…

Harry didn't want to go back down for dinner. He was already late, though, and it was beginning to get cold as the sun sunk lower and lower over the horizon.

Sighing, he bid Hedwig goodbye and began the descent to the great hall.

Hardly anyone noticed him enter aside from Hermione and Neville. He gave them a bit of a wave before he took his seat between Zabini and Davis.

"Where's Daphne?" he asked after he had loaded his plate with salad and a few pieces of duck roast.

"Loo," Tracy said dryly. "She's been there a while. I think Malfoy got on her nerves."

"Why wouldn't she just go up to the dormitories?" Zabini scoffed. "She's acting like an injured Badger."

"Shut it, you."

Harry thought he shouldn't pry. If it had upset her, it'd probably be a tetchy subject with Tracy, too. That little mental voice his dad had trained to scold him if he tried to ignore problems nagged at him, though.

"Is she okay?" he finally said.

Tracy scowled and dropped to a whisper.

"Even Slytherins forget not all our parents were _his_ followers. He was especially cruel to the purebloods who defied him."

"Ah," Harry said sympathetically. "You're not going to check on her?"

Both Blaise and Tracy shuddered.

"You've never seen her upset before. I'd rather face a rampaging giant."

Harry let it drop and tucked into his food with more vigour than he felt. He _was_ hungry, but he would rather not be eating among the merry-makers happily celebrating All Hallows Eve and the event of his orphaning (otherwise known as Boy Who Lived Day).

He was just about to take an extra large slice of treacle (because his mum taught him sugar cured all ills) when the doors banged open to admit a wheezing and shivering Professor Quirrel. He stopped just inside the threshold and bent forward as if he were going to be sick.

"Troll!" he gasped. "In the dungeon!" He took a great, shuddering breath. "There's a troll in the dungeon-"

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell forward. Pandemonium ensued. People screamed and stared at one another in panic. A few stood but could not decide where to go. Finally, the headmaster stood and produced an echoing BANG! with his wand.

"All students: please form an orderly queue. First order prefects will escort their charges to the common rooms. Second order prefects will take the rear and flanks of each queue."

Four hidden arches, wide as Hagrid and nearly as tall, slid open in the walls with a grinding sound and a lot of dust. The keystone in each arch displayed a house crest.

"Staff, with me."

Everyone rushed to follow the professor's instructions except for Harry, Tracy, Blaise and Draco, who lingered in his seat.

Harry looked around for Professor Snape, but he was nowhere in sight. The majority of his house had already disappeared into the Slytherin archway. He ran to follow the professors who had run out of the hall.

They were fast. He stood staring down the empty dungeon stairway helplessly.

"Bollocks," he hissed. Then he remembered: not all the staff attended the feast.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled as he took off running.

He reached the hospital wing in record time and the door swung open to admit him before he could touch it.

"Madam Pomfrey! There's a troll and Greengrass doesn't know and I couldn't catch the other professors!"

The woman looked up from her desk in alarm and ran forward to meet him.

"Shall I stay-"

"Can't leave you unattended. With me Potter!"

She waved her wand as the doors shut and Harry heard many large, heavy locks slide into place.

"Where is she?" the matron demanded.

"Girl's loo, main floor I think!"

The healer ran off in a swirl of green and white robes, Harry on her heels. She, as the other professors seemed to, ran with surprising speed for someone over sixty years of age. Even with his daily run, Harry was hard pressed to keep up with her long strides; his legs were slower in his long school robe.

They turned a corner, then another, and a scream and a crash sounded ahead of them.

Madam Pomfrey ran faster and Harry pulled his robe over his head and threw it behind him mid-stride. He quickly outstripped her as he sprinted to the smashed-in door to the girl's bathroom.

A stench like an open sewer line assaulted his nose as he took in the wreckage before him. Daphne cowered beneath a gushing sink in the far corner of the bathroom, whimpering in terror. A vaguely man-shaped creature stood twelve feet tall and four feet wide mere paces from her. Tracy and Blaise stood just beyond the threshold, both levitating bits of debris at the creature, but the troll merely swatted at the bits of pipe and brick as if they were no different than gnats.

Madam Pomfrey skid to a stop at Harry's side and shoved him behind her a little roughly.

"Are you all right, Miss Greengrass?" she called as she levelled her wand at the troll. "Mr Zabini and Miss Davis, you will join me over here."

It looked about in confusion at the noise. Blaise and Tracey gratefully rushed to the matron's side. The creature began to turn slowly, dragging its huge club with it.

The healer hurled so many spells Harry couldn't distinguish between one and the next. Bolts of green, red, blue and gold shot from her wand at the lumbering beast. Gashes opened up on its mottled, green and brown skin and greyish blood spurted out of it. The troll screamed in rage. Harry ducked instinctively as it swung its club blindly. Daphne shrunk against the wall as it missed her sink by scant inches.

Pomfrey hissed and tried again, only to drive the troll further away as it ran from the pain of her wand. It leaned sideways and took out the remaining stalls to Daphne's left. Debris exploded in every direction; a large chunk flew and hit the girl in the face. She slid to the floor and Harry grabbed Madam Pomfrey's arm.

"Stop! You're making it worse!"

The woman stared down at him with a panicked expression on her face.

"I don't know what else I can do!" she said urgently. "I can't command enough power to put it down!"

"What if we hit it in the head with something?"

"Like what?"

Harry felt like screaming. The troll had realized the spells had stopped, and fully recognized from whence they came. It was howling and glaring at them with unadulterated hate. It lurched forward faster than what should have been possible. Harry reacted on instinct. He whipped out his wand and incanted the first spells that came to mind.

"LUMOS! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

The first spell set off a flash so bright it left them all blinking through momentary blindness, but Harry had already found his second target before his first cast. A great _thunk!_ followed by a shattering crash echoed through the bathroom, and when they blinked the spots from their vision, the troll lay upon the flooded floor among the remains of a heavy porcelain toilet.

Madam Pomfrey levitated and summoned Daphne to her over the troll's unconscious, oozing body. She sported a nasty gash above her eyebrow and a few cuts, but no other injuries as far as any of them could tell.

"Bloody hell," Blaise gasped, sinking to the floor.

Tracy silently held Daphne's limp hand as the matron worked on siphoning blood from her face with her wand.

"Poppy..!"

Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall striding up the hallway, her lips set into a thin line of unmistakeable fury. Snape limped slightly at one side with Quirell on the other. Neither looked happy. Snape, judging by the twitch in his eyebrow, seemed on the verge of apoplectic rage. Quirell, on the other hand, seemed close to fainting again. His face dripped sweat over grey cheeks and brows.

Harry did his level best to look as if he hadn't done anything wrong, but he couldn't quite manage to _feel_ that way. He could feel a headache growing behind his eyes.

"Madam Pomfrey," she began in low, clipped tones. "I hope you have some explanation as to why these children are here with you rather than in their common rooms, or I think I shall have to write their parents to inform them of their immediate expulsion."

Harry, Tracey and Blaise wisely kept their mouths shut. Pomfrey waved an impatient hand.

"I refused to leave them on their own with a troll on the loose. They came to warn me their classmate, Miss Davis, was uninformed about the situation, though I'm not sure why they didn't tell one of you or a prefect immediately."

Harry took his cue.

"By the time we realised the prefects didn't know, they'd already gone half-way down the passages and the professors had already left. I saw you hadn't been at the feast, and since Professor Quirell said it was in the dungeons, I thought it would be safest to get you."

"And we tried to tell them, but they wanted to wait until we were all in the common room before informing you," Tracey expanded. "So Zabini and I came to tell Daphne while Harry got Madam Pomfrey."

Blaise nodded, still slumped on the floor.

McGonagall visibly deflated and surveyed the wreckage along with Daphne's pale, bloodied face.

"In that case, we must thank you again for thinking of the safety of your fellow students. Although, I think we must have a word with the Slytherin prefects over the matter."

"I assure you," Snape growled, "_I_ shall."

Harry nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He definitely did not wish to experience Snape's wrath anytime soon.

Later that night, tucked into the safety of his bed, Harry gave thanks that he had thought to fetch Madam Pomfrey at all, for Snape's wrath had been fearsome indeed when they arrived in the common room. No points had been deducted, of course, (because what use would such a punishment do except to hurt the house as a whole) but the first-order prefects in charge of things like headcounts and official announcements were stripped of their first-order status and given a month each of detention. The other prefects were given two weeks' detention, each. They were all forbidden to submit point deductions against other houses and their Hogsmeade visitation privileges revoked.

Harry very happily went to bed with no more than an exasperated glance from his head-of-house. He crawled beneath his downy coverlet feeling rather lucky, with only a faint tickle of curiosity at the back of his mind: What had happened to Professor Snape's leg?

* * *

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read and review. Next chapter will be posted by next Tuesday at the latest.


	9. Violence Is the Answer

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Violence Is the Answer

* * *

_**November 1, 2012**_

Harry woke feeling very glad last night's normally scheduled astronomy lesson had been cancelled in celebration of Halloween. The blood vessels in his head pounded a brutal tattoo against his skull. Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked blurrily up at the verdant velvet canopy above him, a wash of colour above him in his current state of blindness.

"Would you like your glasses?"

Harry sat bolt upright, clutching the duvet to his chin.

"Who's that?" he said in a voice much higher than it should have been.

He squinted through the dim light but couldn't make out the figure sitting in the chair by his bed. Whoever it was extended a limb and Harry quickly accepted his glasses.

"Miss Greengrass," he spluttered as soon as he could see her clearly.

She raised a delicately arched black brow. Her lips curled into a teasing smile as she crossed her legs.

"You called me Daphne just yesterday.

"Yes, but yesterday I didn't wake up to you sitting in my _bedroom!_" Harry hissed. "I'm not dressed!"

"Yes, I noticed. You know, you're rather well-formed for a boy your age."

Harry blushed scarlet and tucked the duvet tighter around his naked torso.

"How'd you even get in here?"

Harry's face burned, and his head hurt, and he felt like he could do with some more sleep. He definitely wasn't prepared to deal with a very proper (or maybe not as proper as he thought, since she'd somehow snuck into his room) young pureblood heiress sitting in his chair.

The young lady gave a tip of her hand in a isn't-it-obvious sort of way.

"I called a house elf and told her I wanted to look after you to be sure you hadn't suffered any ill effects after my most daring rescue from the clutches of a troll and the failed efforts of Madam Pomfrey."

"Cuddie brought you, didn't she?" Harry groaned.

"She's very devoted to you. Whatever you said to her has made her quite loyal. My older brother said she had charge of the Slytherin first year dormitories when he attended, too, but he described her as a bit stern and, dare I say, _cantankerously_ disinclined to assist her charges in the slightest misdeed."

The girl examined Harry with the same smirk affixed to her porcelain doll-like face.

"And yet, for you, she'll secret a girl into your room."

"Maybe she's just nicer than your brother knew. She's always been lovely with me. Anyway-" He gave Daphne a pointed glare. "Do you mind if I dress?"

"Not at all."

She continued to stare at him unabashedly.

"Do you mind turning around or something?"

"No."

"What sort of lady are you?"

"One entirely assured of her wants and desires, unashamed of her admiration of a perfectly fit boy." Her smirk grew into a full-on grin. "Why shouldn't I be? You boys watch we girls all the time. You simply lack the grace to admit it openly around the opposite sex."

"I don't!" Harry protested. "I mean, I'm aware of girls, sure, but I'm equally aware of boys and I don't…"

Harry stopped, sure that his face would melt off if he blushed any brighter.

"I'm going to close my curtains now. Could you please pass me my uniform?"

Daphne laughed as the boy allowed the heavy green drapes to fall about his four-poster.

* * *

_**November 6, 2012**_

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_How are you enjoying work at the Ministry? I'm enjoying school quite a lot. Maia and Evi are as well as ever. Both are keeping an eye on me. _

_Maia doesn't like my new friend Fanny very much. Evi thinks she's jealous. I don't understand what either he or Fanny are on about. Did I tell you she woke me up the morning after the walking boulder incident by barging into my room all "girls-have-as-much-right-to-stare-as-boys"?_

_I wasn't even dressed yet! _

_Aside from her forwardness, she's really clever. As clever as Maia, even, though she doesn't let on as much. She's helped me make inroads with my housemates, too, so I'm glad she apparently approves of me, now. I think I might soon become friends with Cee and Blay, too._

_Anyway, I'm playing my first quidditch match, against the Goldenmanes this weekend. It's the first match of the season. From listening to Evi talk about their seeker, I think our team has a fair chance of winning the cup already. _

_Headaches are still a problem. Haven't seen much of you-know-which-head-teacher. He-who-flaps-a-lot's still not fully recovered from his injury._

_Love you both. I'm starting operation Exploratory Investigation after the match._

_-Jamie_

Rose breathed a long-suffering sigh as she folded up the letter and stowed it in her purse. The man sitting across the desk from her in the dimly lit office gave her a gentle smile.

"Letter from your boy?"

Rose nodded, her mouth set in a dissatisfied pucker.

"If he's anything like my boys, I completely understand," the redhead murmured sympathetically. "I've got six, and only two of them seem to keep out of trouble, and one of them hasn't been paying enough attention to his marks, lately."

The woman laughed.

"I'm glad I've only got the one, then. He's not very much trouble himself," she admitted. "More like trouble seeks _him_ out."

"Ah, well. I hope he outgrows it, then."

"Thanks, Arthur."

Rose went back to filling out the forms documenting the latest occasion of wizard-enchanted objects falling into the wrong hands. One Mr Coldridge Culpepper, a well-known thief, con artist and philanderer, had taken certain liberties with a recently deceased witch's belongings. Several items of jewellery cursed to shout obscenities at unauthorised wearers had wound up in the hands of several pawnbrokers through east London. Of course, such rare and beautiful items hadn't stayed on shelves for long. They had been distributed to jewellers, individual buyers and antique shops.

There had been so many witnesses, in fact, that Arthur had only just finished damage control, and since it was already nearing four in the morning, he decided he might as well stay on for his normal shift rather than clock out for a scant hour's sleep.

"Where did you say Jamie went to school?"

Rose's fountain pen paused on the form.

"Hogwarts. I've never had him so far away, before."

"No," Arthur agreed. "It's never easy with boarding schools."

The woman known as Roselyn Smith signed her name at the bottom of the form and put it into the thick file at her elbow before leaning back into her swivel chair with a sigh.

"Want some coffee, Arthur? I'm going down to meet Mr Smith for my lunch break."

"Bless you. Just fetch me one on your way back. I think I'm going to have a bit of a nap."

Rose grabbed her purse and fled the tiny closet of an office, and its clutter, behind. She rode the lift up from the atrium to the forgotten little London alleyway phone box and walked down the street to the twenty-four hour pub on the corner. It was a seedy little place with sticky floors and grubby seating, but no wizards treaded there. Rose shed her plain grey robe just outside the door and folded it over her arm in favour of the less conspicuous suit beneath. She pulled the pin out of her hair and let it fall around her shoulders as she went in.

The Doctor sat in a corner booth with a two large helpings of shepherd's pie before him. She sat beside him and poured herself a steaming mug of strong tea while she examined his stormy face.

"Is it bad?" she finally asked.

He nodded and slid the file toward her. Their son's name, written in shimmering purple ink, stared up at her from the tab on the file. Her fingers tingled when she brushed them over the heavy cardstock.

"Lots of perception filters-" the Doctor frowned and began again. "Sorry, notice-me-nots layered over each other on there. If you'd never been exposed to the TARDIS, you wouldn't be able to see it at all. I weakened them as much as I could with the anti-repelling field I built. Take a look."

Rose spent the rest of their lunch break flipping through the surprisingly thin file compiled on her son. She read falsified records detailing Harry's wizarding vaccinations from his first year though his fourth. She read health reports dated up to the current year, none of which accurately described the boy she loved. She found custody papers supposedly signed by Mr and Mrs Dursley, and voided custody claims belonging to named Godmother, Mrs Alice Longbottom, and Godfather, Mr Sirius Black, respectively. A few newspaper clippings showed a tall, dark-haired man, later identified as the same Sirius Black, laughing as aurors led him away from a devastating scene of death and destruction. Every single official document bore one name: Albus Dumbledore.

"So, there you have it," the Doctor murmured as they walked back to the concealed lift. "It's his headmaster, again."

"Just why is he so interested in my boy?" she half-snarled as the lift with the pleasant voice slid smoothly under ground. "Why would he go through all that trouble to hide that file, fake the records, and dump him on a doorstep and fake _more_ records?"

"I don't know. It's obvious he didn't check up on him or we would have had trouble before now."

"And that letter."

"And the books," the Doctor said darkly.

"What do you mean, the books?"

The Doctor dropped into a whisper as the disembodied lift voice announced their arrival in the Atrium.

"If Lily and James Potter were in deep hiding – probably under a Fidelius charm seeing as they disappeared so completely for so long – how did anyone know what happened that night to write those books?"

"They made it up."

"Then why aren't there a bunch of different stories? I mean what happens after differs from source to source, but the accounts of their murder-"

"They all match, so that means someone either witnessed or _said_ they witnessed it or the immediate aftermath."

"How much you want to bet me Harry's dear headmaster's responsible for that, too?"

"So, if I've got the whole of it," Rose began again in a low, dangerous tone. "Voldemort targets my boy for whatever reason according to popular history, Harry survives, someone gives the press a bloody interview, then Dumbledore leaves him on a bloody doorstep on a freezing November night and fakes all the records."

The Doctor's face bore all the grim signs of someone's approaching doom, mirroring the towering mood Rose had quickly worked herself into.

"And then the books make it out like he's some prophesied hero. It's got all the markings of a professional branding campaign."

"Yep. That's the conclusion I arrived at, too," the Doctor grumbled.

"And no one ever found a body, and a good portion of the people arrested in the aftermath got acquitted?" Rose added, her wide, light hazel eyes shone with barely restrained anger.

"Nope. He's perfectly set up as a white knight or a sacrificial lamb, depending on what comes."

"Right. Can we agree to suspend the non-violence rules?"

"Consider them suspended from here onward in any instance involving our kids."

Rose's grim moue spread into a ruthless grin.

"Does that mean you're going to go buy a wand?"

"Yep. If the Goblins' stories are true, there's no reason why I shouldn't be able to use one. I'm half and half after all."

"Just don't blow anything up."

"If I do, I'll make sure to aim, first. Either that, or I'll build myself a lot of big threatening buttons."

* * *

_**November 10, 2012**_

The sky shone cloudless blue-grey over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A light, cold breeze swept across the fields of dark green grass and the scent of hot, spiced pumpkin filled the halls (because giant pumpkins made many, many pumpkin sweets, even half a month after Halloween).

The hall buzzed with excitement that Saturday morning, and up and down the Slytherin table, Harry's housemates called threats disguised as encouragement at him. Daphne gave his arm a sympathetic pat.

"Don't worry," she said. "You can just take a long dive off your broom if you fail to catch the snitch."

"You'll do fine," Malfoy asserted.

Harry looked across the table in surprise. Draco hadn't said anything to him, positive or negative, since September.

"Professor Snape wouldn't have put such a do-gooder half-blood on the team, otherwise."

The blonde went back to eating his breakfast, leaving Harry to wonder at the backhanded compliment.

"There you have it," Blaise remarked. "Malfoy's given you his stamp of approval; therefore, your success is assured."

Harry's stomach felt as if he'd swallowed a flutterby bush as he stood to follow his team out of the hall. Hermione and Neville called their encouragement after them, a delightfully unrestrained contrast to his Slytherin friends' muted support. The rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs jeered, though Harry thought the Hufflepuffs' calls weren't aimed exactly at him, especially after his foray into their common room. The Gryffs, on the other hand, seemed to think it a personal insult against them on Harry's part that he hadn't been sorted into his house. At least, that's what Neville said.

It was cooler outside than Harry would have liked, and he felt instantly glad his new quidditch kit had warming charms built in – a standard feature for Slytherins. He changed quickly, mindful of Flint's hawk-like gaze. His eyes promised pain for the new seeker if he failed to perform today.

The flutterby bush wriggled painfully.

Adrian Pucey, a third year chaser who Harry had come to admire quite a lot more than his other teammates, squeezed his shoulder as he finished strapping on his leather seeker's armour and fingerless gloves.

"Nervous?" he asked softly. The dark haired boy bent to lace his boots up over his jodhpurs.

Harry gave a slight nod.

"No one will say it, but they were all nervous their first game and with a lot more reason than you," Pucey whispered. "I've seen a lot of people fly, but I've never seen anyone with a more natural talent for a broom than you."

Harry shrugged into his robe and shot the older boy a grateful look as they all took their brooms and queued up before the doors leading to the pitch.

"When we win this, there'll be a gallon of Firewhiskey in it for you," Flint grunted.

Beyond the doors, a thousand spectators, the staff, and a fair few parents and scouts included, roared. For the upper year students aspiring toward professional careers in Quidditch, these school matches were the only showcase for their talents.

Flint, as a fifth year with unimpressive marks and less impressive looks (despite his highly admired pedigree) desperately desired that sort of attention. Even if he found a good position in the Ministry through his family's connections, he would not rise to any sort of political or social fame with his brains. He was cunning enough to know that, and so sought to catch the eye of the professional leagues so as not to fall behind his elder brothers in infamy.

These desires led him to a sort of conundrum when it came to his new seeker, as, on one hand, Potter's natural ability would make Slytherin nigh unbeatable when combined with their rather aggressive playing strategies; on the other hand, he could _outshine_ nearly any other player, including himself. _That_ would have been unacceptable if Harry were any older and, therefore, competition for the scouts' attentions. Still, the possibility of Potter wrecking his chances at a contract kept him harsh toward Slytherin's youngest player, which brought him to turn and glare at the boy again.

"And you, Potter. If you fuck up, you'll wish that troll got you."

Harry gulped. The doors opened and the bright late morning sunshine momentarily blinded them all, but Lee Jordan was yelling their names, and before he could get his bearings, the magically amplified voice screamed, _"POTTER!"_ and Harry ran forward and kicked off on his Nimbus Two Thousand to rocket into the sky after his teammates. The Slytherins flew a couple warm-up laps around the pitch in time to Lee Jordan's heavily biased commentating while they waited for Gryffindor's introduction.

"Bletchley, Flint, and Pucey return for yet another season. Let's hope Pucey's still uncorrupted by the other two or we're in for one hell of a dirty game."

There was a short pause in the commentary as McGonagall scolded the third year Gryffindor.

"Third year chaser Aadil Shafiq, fourth year beaters Kyle Hooper and Nathaniel Pike, and first year seeker Harry Potter finish up this year's roster. Keep your eyes on Potter, folks, because the word is he's a better flier than even Charlie Weasley, Gryffindor legend and record-holder for most snitches caught and shortest match. Let's all hope he's noble as Neville claims, or look out world!"

Harry followed his teammates to the ground, where Madam Hooch waited with her whistle in hand, the trunk containing the snitch and bludgers eagerly wriggling behind her.

"…And here come the Gryffindors!"

The pitch exploded in cheers. They really _didn't_ like the Slytherins' reigning hold over the quidditch cup.

"Wood, Spinnet and the lovely Angelina Johnson return for another season. It's a shame she won't accept my humble proposal to date, but hey, I can't blame a gorgeous girl for saying 'no' to a clown like me. I haven't given up, Angelina!"

Another interruption in which Harry clearly heard McGonagall threaten detention and suspension of Hogsmeade privileges temporarily spawned laughter throughout the stands.

"Sorry, professor, sorry. Weasley and Weasley, of course, finish up the old crowd. They're joined by untested second years: chaser Katie Bell and seeker Cormack McLaggen."

The Gryffindors finished out their warm-up and joined their opponents on the ground. Flint and Wood faced off while Harry tried not to laugh hysterically at Fred and George's identical expressions of mock seriousness. The flutterby bush had calmed considerably since he kicked off, but now he itched to take off again. Hooch directed the captains in shaking hands, put the whistle to her lips, and they were off!

Harry kicked off hard and shot high into the air, faster and further than any of the others. He began flying circles and figure eights over the others' heads as the match got off to a brutal start.

"Pucey passes to Flint! Flint shoots low to Shafiq. Flint rushes Bell! Oh, FOUL!"

But Madam Hooch didn't blow her whistle.

"Shafiq scores after Bell nearly falls off her broom. Ten points to Slytherin. Don't know how Flint wasn't called on that one."

"Gryffindor in possession, now. Bell to Spinnet, Spinnet back to Bell, Johnson takes it up the centre, _excellent_ bludgers work by Weasley and Weasley as Pucey moves to intercept! Look out, Bell, Flint's going to-!"

The stands groaned. Hooch called the foul, which Bletchley barely saved. The Gryffindors seemed to rally, though. Their chasers flew in better sync than Flint did with Pucey and Shafiq, who were quite good together. His attempts to lead them in setting up fouls ended poorly, Harry noticed, as neither of them seemed they wanted to participate in a dirty game. It was made worse by Pike and Hooper's poorly aimed hits. The bludgers flew everywhere, and Fred and George got so fed up with the chaos – quite the feat, Harry admitted – that they took it upon themselves to decommission the Slytherin beaters.

The Gryffindor score climbed to one hundred and thirty. Harry looked more and more frantically for the elusive golden snitch as he flew above the pitch. McLaggen had chosen to search from below while taking short intermissions to fly loops around the Slytherin goal posts. Harry could feel every pair of Slytherin eyes glaring daggers at him.

Then he saw it: a flash of gold fluttering mere feet above the ground near the base of the Hufflepuff stands.

Harry urged his broom into a wild dive. A few people screamed. The ground grew closer and closer and Harry shifted his weight to pull smoothly out of the dive– Except, the broom would not obey. Harry's mouth tasted of iron.

His stomach jumped into his throat as the blades of grass became distinguishable from one another. Harry pulled desperately on the broom with all his physical and magical might. He clamped his eyes shut. People were screaming all over the stands. This was going to hurt quite a lot if he didn't pass out. Just as he should have crashed, however, the broom jerked upwards in a dizzying spiral. Harry barely held on. It twisted, flipped, dropped and rose erratically while he clung on for dear life. Some of the spectators had begun laughing.

"Now that's an interesting move!" Lee said as Harry held like a sloth to his suddenly rolling broom.

He felt like he was going to be sick. It just kept trying to buck him. Flint, however, seemed to be enjoying the unexpected distraction. Before the Gryffindors could get back to playing, he scored six consecutive goals to bring them up to seventy points. Lee didn't call it, but the scoreboard still counted it.

Play resumed, but more sedately on the side of the Gryffindors as Fred and George took to flying below and a little behind Harry in case he should fall. Harry felt extremely grateful for that, because Pucey and Shafiq, the only players who might have cared on Harry's team, seemed to trust the professors to do something if he _did_ manage to fall off.

In the stands, Hermione, Daphne and Neville watched in horror as Harry's broom attempted, again, to drive him into the ground two hundred feet below. As before, it stopped before it could and danced off in another direction, jerking and rolling and twitching all the way, until Harry clung to life once more above all their heads.

"What's happening?" Neville squeaked.

Hermione clung to his hand, cutting off the circulation in his fingers as she scanned the crowd.

"I don't know! I can't see!"

"Someone's jinxing his broom!" Daphne hissed.

"I know that!" Hermione snapped. "I can't tell who, though!"

"Muggleborns! You're all useless!" a voice snarled.

They turned to find Draco Malfoy commandeering a pair of omnioculars from a bloodied Ravenclaw, who was otherwise engaged by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy lifted the device to his face and stared for a moment

"It's Quirrel! I think Snape's holding him off! Neither is breaking eye contact-"

"That's ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "Why would Quirrel do that to Harry? Are you sure it's not one of the visiting-"

Daphne cut her off.

"Does it matter? We need to cause a distraction so whoever it is stops! We can't guarantee who it is so we have to make _everyone_ look away."

Hermione looked like she could _bite_ the statuesque brunette. Neville stepped between them.

"What do we do?"

Draco cast a wild glance at all the stand reserved for the adult spectators and staff. Most of them were staring as Harry tried not to fall to his death.

"Leave it to me," Hermione said, following the boy's gaze.

Before anyone could stop her, Hermione disappeared. Above them, Harry's broom had changed tactics and now flipped tail-up to spin like a top. Harry began to slide forward. The broom jerked hard. His legs flipped over his arms so he clung with only his hands to the handle. He hung suspended over open air while the broom climbed ever higher. Fred and George had stopped participating again, along with the Gryffindor chasers, Pucey and Shafiq, to fly in circles beneath him.

"Come on, Granger," Daphne muttered.

Neville had begun a similar chant at her elbow as they kept their anxious vigil. The Nimbus Two Thousand's shaft jerked upwards to break free of one of Harry's hands. He clung by the tips of his fingers, silently praying he would get to see his parents and sister again. He was fairly certain he wouldn't bounce, and he wasn't sure if his teammates would catch him without falling, themselves.

Hermione took less than thirty seconds to climb beneath the seats in the adults' stands. Their robes hung around their ankles, easy targets for her purposes. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and whipped out her wand just as more gasps and screams sounded above her.

"_Bléfior Ignis!"_

A stream of bluebell flames erupted from her wand to cling to the robes of nearly every person seated in the centre of the stand. She heard the shouts of alarm above her and wisely took her cue to leave. Hermione stared as she left the stands, her eyes fixed in terror and her neck craning at the drama above her.

Harry had dived again from a height of over five hundred feet above the pitch. He flattened himself to his broom, he and it a blur of silver and green. The spectators screamed. Hermione's fingers clenched into fists around the ends of her sleeves. A hush fell over the crowd.

"Neville, you can look," Daphne crowed.

The pudgy boy peaked carefully through his fingers as the noise, a buzz which grew into a triumphant cheer, rocked the stands.

Harry stood below, grass-stained but unharmed, with the snitch held above his head.

"I can't believe it! Slytherin turns the game around with two hundred and twenty points to one hundred and seventy. What a match!"

Hermione screamed her appreciation with the rest of them as the lowest level of the stands quickly filled with spectators rushing to the field. Slytherins raised Harry above their shoulders to carry him off the pitch to the locker rooms. Hermione met Daphne and Neville on their way down to linger at the edges of the cheering fray. The Slytherin was disinclined to participate in such an indecorous display.

"Good job," she sniffed. "Whatever you did, half of them fell over the other half, and whoever it was couldn't keep up the jinx."

"Thank you," Hermione said graciously. "And you were right about the scope. Aiming at more of them saved time, and probably Harry's neck."

"You both are brilliant and you'd make wonderful friends if you could get over yourselves," Neville laughed. "Ow!"

Both girls had punched him in either arm. He pouted. Daphne finally sighed and looped an arm through one of his. Hermione slipped one around his waist.

"We love you too, Neville," she giggled.

"I wouldn't go that far," Daphne corrected. "But I _am_ fond."

The boy blushed.

* * *

Draco Malfoy rapped hard on Professor Snape's office door. Shadows interrupted the light filtering beneath it before the heavy oak portal swung open to frame a decidedly unhappy potions master.

"May I help you, Mr Malfoy?"

The boy, who had spent hours debating the necessity of this meeting, nodded once.

"In confidence, please, sir. I'm afraid it's very important."

Snape's eyes narrowed and swept the corridor beyond his sanctum. He pulled the door wider and Draco accepted the silent invitation.

The office was uncharacteristically bright. Harry Potter's broom lay across Snape's desk, bathed in a bluish glow. Draco stared for a moment, but did not dare to ask.

"What was so important?" the professor snapped as the silence stretched on.

The blonde boy stiffened and looked away from his head-of-house's penetrating glare.

"At the match, sir, Greengrass and I noticed something was wrong. I had a pair of omnioculars, sir, and I remember my father describing the process of jinxing a thing, and I thought…"

"Yes?" Snape said sharply.

"I thought it could be possible someone was doing their best to kill Potter," Malfoy finished quietly.

The professor appraised his student as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and refused to meet his gaze.

"You would do well to keep such opinions to yourself. No doubt Lucius has told you the dangers associated with certain knowledge and views."

Malfoy paled.

"Yes, sir."

Understanding his dismissal, the boy left hastily but lingered at the archway to the common room corridor.

Before he could change his mind, he went back up the stairs and out the great front doors to the entrance hall. The owlery stood empty of other human visitors at this hour of the evening. Most students were either at dinner or in their common rooms, already. He had only fifteen minutes until curfew, so Draco worked quickly. His handsome eagle owl flew down to the lonely writing desk at the centre of the skeletal tower as he pulled parchment and quill from his school bag. He jotted the note hastily, rolled it up, and tied it with a bit of twine leftover from someone's parcel.

"Take this to Harry Potter's parents," he commanded.

The owl swooped up and out of the tower, leaving his master to wonder at the state of his ever more confusing life.

* * *

A/N: There you go. Hope you liked it. Not all is as what it seems. Next chapter will be posted by next Tuesday at the latest. Thanks for taking the time to read and review.

Love,

Forensica X


	10. Suspicion and Resolve

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: There's going to be a lot of dialogue in this chapter as the kids work through some stuff, just as a warning. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Suspicion and Resolve

* * *

_**November 19, 2012**_

"He was trying to kill you," Draco hissed in Harry's ear yet again.

He'd been at it since that morning. Draco Malfoy, Harry's least favourite person aside from Dudley Dursley (at least prior to the quidditch match), ambushed Harry the moment he left his bedroom, then proceeded to hiss in his ear all day about their quavering, bumbling defence professor.

"He was jinxing your broom," the boy began again as Harry sat down to Magical Theory.

Harry frowned as Daphne strode past her usual spot beside him and moved down two tables, clear across the room.

"Are you going to follow me _all_ day?" he complained.

The blonde had already upset the seating Harry had come to expect both at breakfast and Potions.

"If I must to get this through your thick scarred head, then yes. What are you going to do about it? We have him _next_ period."

"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "He hasn't killed me in class up to now. Why would he start trying?"

"Because he failed at the match," Draco insisted. "As much as I dislike you, I'd rather not have my psyche scarred by your disembowelment."

Harry sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples as he attempted to follow the lecture on the origins of magic.

Professor Burbage, who also taught second, third and fourth year Muggle Studies, stood at the head of the room doing her level best to make sense of an illogical and mystical approach to what Harry had begun to understand as physics on an abstract level.

"I never knew you cared so much," he muttered, wincing from Draco's latest tactic: an elbow to the ribs.

"…In transfiguration, we learn that one thing can be changed, through the exertion of magic and intent, to another thing. But we also know that by Gamp's Law we cannot transfigure a thing without a base material from which to work."

"And that's a convoluted way of putting conservation of mass," Harry muttered as he made a note in his rather thick notebook.

Malfoy, seeing how many notes Harry had, made a half-hearted attempt to jot down Professor Burbage's latest point.

"How, therefore, do we manage conjuration, otherwise known as the advanced transfiguration you shall encounter in third year and on?"

Harry could imagine Hermione's hand shooting into the air. As they shared the class with Ravenclaw, however, the first to speak was Stephen Cornfoot.

"We manipulate the ambient magic in the air and shape things out of it. That's why conjured objects don't last as long as transfigured things; because we have to make the magic hold its shape with our own cores."

Harry rolled his eyes. That was only a third right, based on his and his dad's experimentation and research.

"Correct. Two points to Ravenclaw."

But even with the distraction of class, Draco Malfoy kept at it well into lunchtime, much to the displeasure of Hermione and Daphne as they all gathered at the end Hufflepuff table.

"What exactly is it you wanted, Malfoy?" Daphne sniped. "Some of us were attempting to have a conversation."

"What could possibly be more important than your so-called friend's life? I'm trying to tell you, I know what I saw yesterday and I confirmed it with Professor Snape someone's trying to-"

"Yes, actually," Harry snapped. "There _is_ something more important than a mad turbaned professor trying to kill me."

"Harry-" Hermione gasped, apparently scandalised and alarmed.

The black-haired boy spun in his seat and gave her a yes-I-know-so-hush sort of look before turning back to Draco.

"I've known about Quirrel for a while, now," he continued, tapping his forehead just around his scar. "Headaches are always worse around him. Call it a sixth sense for potential murderers. At the very least, he's been trying to dig into my brain. The broom thing only confirmed it."

Malfoy worked his mouth not unlike a gold fish out of water might.

"Boring. Know all about that. He won't try again now that he's alerted the whole school someone's after me. At least, he won't try while you all stick around all witnessy-like."

Harry clapped his hands together and grinned.

"Here's the better, more important issue: What's behind the door in the forbidden third floor corridor_?_"

Draco and Daphne blinked. Hermione huffed and Neville expelled a long-suffering sigh.

"I thought your mum and dad were going to figure that out," he said morosely. "I thought it was too dangerous."

Daphne scoffed.

"As if. Why would it be in a school if it were that dangerous?" she asked ironically. "Mad or not, Dumbledore _is_ the headmaster, and you can be sure most of us wrote home about his announcement the day after the welcoming feast. No one's come to investigate, so it mustn't be all that bad. Probably an extra credit obstacle course meant for the upper years."

She daintily took a bite of egg sandwich, as if she had closed the matter with her dismissal.

"Well…" Neville flushed scarlet.

They all looked to him. Neville began slowly twisting and untwisting his serviette.

"A couple weeks into term, I got locked out of my common room. The Fat Lady had gone visiting-"

"Why does everyone call her that?" Harry interrupted. "It's awfully rude. And she can't be anywhere near as fat as my uncle or cousin, and she doesn't sound like a _bad_ portrait so-"

He paused as he assessed the four incredulous and bemused stares looking back at him.

"Right, go on, Neville. Sorry."

The Gryffindor smiled.

"Anyway, the Bloody Baron and Peeves had gone by a couple of times and I didn't fancy waiting around for Filch, so I went for a bit of a walk hoping I'd find somewhere to hide," he explained, his blush deepening from a light rose to a full on red.

"I'm guessing you didn't quite manage," Hermione gently teased.

"No. I tripped and landed in a suit of armour. Ended up running to avoid Filch, and Mrs Norris was after me. I didn't mean to, but I ended up at a locked door on the third floor. I would have been done for, but I remembered that unlocking spell Hermione was helping me with."

Harry choked on his juice.

"You mean you can get to potential death with just an _alohomora_?" Draco hissed. He was doing a lot of that today. "Dumbledore's more daft than I thought."

Neville nodded.

"So what was inside?" Hermione whispered. "What've they got hidden?"

"Cerberus on top of a trap door. It's got three heads and everything. I got out of there faster than I've ever run."

"Seriously?" Harry complained. "A quadruple 'X' classed dangerous creature's just sitting in a corridor?"

Neville shrugged.

"The next morning, I thought maybe I ate something off the night before and dreamed it all, but I snuck back during lunchtime and put my ear to the door, and sure enough, I could hear it snoring."

Daphne gasped and pulled Harry closer to her by his sleeve.

"_Professor Snape's Leg!_"

Neville and Hermione, having missed the limping, injured Snape and his mysterious disappearance from the Great Hall on the event of the mountain troll incident, as it had come to be known, looked extremely lost. Draco affected a look of innocence.

"The troll was a diversion," Harry breathed. "Quirrel probably let it in. Snape realised it and went to check on whatever's hidden and got bitten. He must have run into Quirrel, too, because Snape and him came in just after McGonagall-"

Comprehension dawned on their friends. Draco nodded along in agreement and Neville began chewing his nails. Hermione smacked her palm to her forehead.

"_Of course_ whoever let it in would be most interested in seeing what happened to his diversion," she whispered. "I'm sure he expected it to rampage far longer than it did. Right, you've got me sold. It _must_ be Quirrel."

"But why?" Neville breathed, leaning forward. "I mean, it's sort of accepted anyone who takes the defence position's probably barmy, but what would be worth all that trouble to hide? And why would they hide it here? Like Daphne said, it _is_ a school full of kids."

Harry held up a hand and looked about. They still had plenty of time before their lunch break ended, but it was becoming rather crowded and several people were openly wondering at their new inclusion of Malfoy in their usual seating arrangement.

"Let's leave it till fourth period. Let's meet us in the seventh floor corridor by that tapestry of those trolls wearing tutus."

"Why should I come?" Draco complained. "I've warned you. The way I see it, I'm not involved anymore."

Harry grinned and quirked an eyebrow.

"But don't you _want_ to be?"

* * *

After an hour and a half of yet another Quirrel special – a stuttering, long-winded, headache inducing lecture quoted almost entirely from their first-year defence text – Harry led Daphne and Draco up the staircase to the seventh floor. Barnabus the Barmy, forever caught in his cycle of pirouetting before the tutu-clad trolls (who seemed to have more interest in banging their clubs on the ground than dancing), turned to sigh at them as they approached the bare stretch of wall.

"Why did you want to meet Longbottom and Granger here?" Draco grumbled. "It's just a stupid corridor just like all the other ones, if you don't count its frustrating altitude."

Daphne sniffed.

"It doesn't suit a boy of your breeding to complain of something so trivial as exercise," she remarked. "What happened to your noble stoicism?"

Harry sighed and opened the door he'd been contemplating for the last several moments. Draco looked like he was getting ready to pick a fight.

"I realise you have an unresolved conflict to work out, but now isn't the time. Let's move on, please."

The two looked on in bewilderment as Harry disappeared through a door that hadn't existed mere moments before.

Daphne looked around in surprise at the odd arrangement of the room within. Glass pane windows looked out of the square room onto lush gardens and a large white house below. The browned branches of a tree interrupted their view at intervals and cast dappled patterns of light through the west windows. Fat, irregularly shaped cushions, wider than Daphne or Draco were tall, encircled a plush carpeted floor and a wide, dark mirror hung mounted on the wall across from the entrance. Hermione and Neville were already seated inside with a basket of snacks and a pot of tea.

"What sort of place is this?" Draco sneered. "It looks so…"

Hermione sent him a glare and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Mundane," the blonde finished a little lamely.

Daphne attempted to sit primly in one of the beanbags and giggled as its moving insides forced her to lounge.

"What manner of furniture are these?" she giggled.

"Beanbag chairs," Neville laughed. "They're great."

"If you say so. I thought we were here to discuss matters more important than life and death," Draco drawled.

"Right you are, oh snarky one," Harry agreed.

His friends and Draco gathered around him and settled into the beanbags. Harry rummaged in his satchel to withdraw a slightly wrinkled, folded bit of newsprint. He spread it out on the floor before them and stepped back to let them see.

"The withdrawal and break-in at Gringotts coincide rather closely with the installation of the guard dog on the third floor, don't they?" Harry said as everyone had finished reading through the news clippings.

Draco Malfoy looked around at them all strangely.

"I was there that day, in Diagon Alley. The great oaf Hagrid was boasting about 'special Hogwarts business' at the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry grinned and ruffled Neville's hair.

"See? I told you Draco would be a valuable asset," he crowed.

Neville grimaced and shrugged. Hermione's sceptical expression endured and Daphne maintained her usual air of nonchalance. Harry gamely overlooked them all and continued on.

"What were his exact words?" he asked as he put the news clippings away.

Draco rolled his eyes and reclined in his beanbag.

"He gave my father a rude look and drank half a barrel of fire whiskey. Then he started in on the 'special Hogwarts business' thing. He said 'I'm Dumbledore's right hand man. Great man, Albus Dumbledore. Knows he can trust me with anything. When 'Arry Potter'–"

Draco paused and sneered.

"'Needed savin' that 'orrible night, it was me Dumbledore trusted to do it. That's why he's got me here, today. Top-secret business of the mos' impor'ant type. And I'll have my deliv'ry done early, to boot.' And then the great oaf waved around a parcel wrapped in brown paper."

Harry scribbled in one of his journals and nodded. Hermione groaned and Daphne grimaced. Neville looked a little ill.

"How big was it?" Harry asked.

Draco made a fist and squinted.

"About that size."

"Hagrid practically put up an advertisement," Daphne said, rubbing her temples. "The thief doesn't find what he's looking for at Gringotts, hears some men at the pub talking about Hagrid's drunken speech, and…" she trailed off.

"Enlists the most vulnerable professor here to help him steal it," Harry concluded.

Hermione flipped over on her beanbag to lie on her stomach and bury her face in her arms.

"It's so convoluted and stupid," her muffled voice grumbled. "Dumbledore knows a theft is going to happen and so sets a trap up for the thief here?"

"But _why_?" Neville asked again. "It makes no sense."

Draco's puzzled face hardened and paled.

"Father always says great men never do anything without ensuring multiple benefits," he said slowly. "That, and any leader worth their name always says what he means. It's not just a trap for the thief. The lock and Dumbledore's speech at the beginning of the year–"

"He wouldn't have said what he did or locked it the way he did," Harry finished. "Quirrel or Quirrel's partner managed to get into Gringotts, so Dumbledore's probably put it somewhere even safer than that. Not in the corridor he advertised to the whole school. The parcel's just bait, and the trap itself is a set up to slow down Quirrel and test a very specific sort of student. That, or force a confrontation."

"What? Not just you, Potter?" Draco snapped.

"No. Neville got in. No one else has managed."

They all sat silently for a few moments, digesting that little tidbit of information. Hermione remained face-planted in her beanbag. Daphne glared at the ceiling. Neville nursed a cup of tea. Draco seemed frustrated to the point of anger.

"I suppose you've heard about others trying the door?" Daphne finally said.

"Yup," Harry affirmed. "But we're not going to test my theory about that until we know what the object is. It'll help us identify whoever's pulling Quirrel's strings. He himself has no reason to maim me. It must be his boss."

Hermione sat up then and gave Harry a look.

"Can I understand that as the end of this conversation for now?" she said primly.

The black-haired boy nodded.

"Perfect," Daphne said. "Although I'm put-out no one told me about this room until now – very interesting, by the way – I do wish to know what you're thinking with Draco, here."

Draco glared at her. Harry shrugged and punched him in the arm.

"I've been observing him," he said. "And I can tell when people are lying to me."

"_He's_ right here, you know," Draco griped. "And _I_ haven't any clue what you're talking about.

"I'm saying you can join us and ditch your brainless baboons if you want. It's why I chose to include you today. Also, you helped keep me alive Saturday, despite what your dad surely would like, considering he's one of the people that got tried for helping Voldemort murder people. Then there's the note to my parents."

Draco's face blanched and twisted rather unpleasantly. He began to open his mouth but Harry shoved a buttered scone between his teeth.

"Hush. I know. Your father's got the respect of all of society, blah-blah-blah. I'm giving you a choice. You've read about the stuff he's done since I got here. I know because I can see through the disguises you have on some of your books. You're motivated politically, too, but you also don't want to be seen the way people see him, even if you want the respect. You want to be, well, your own man. That's why you care whether I die or not."

Draco had begun examining his shoes. Daphne gave him a long look.

"I almost killed you, Greengrass. I… I didn't know about your dad. Father never told me about what happened to the high society blood traitors. I just assumed they all fled the country when the Dark Lord came recruiting." He turned to meet Daphne's icy blue stare. "I'm sorry. Not just because Zabini told me what happened to the troll and told me about your dad, or for saying the things I did."

The boy took a deep breath and looked around at Hermione and Neville, who both appraised him with curiosity and obvious distrust.

"I asked my father about it, after it happened, and he gave me details about a blood traitor's fate in the Dark Lord's time. Not specific names, or anything – he'd never incriminate himself," Draco spat, "But enough that I've re-evaluated my position on things. It occurred to me that when people see my father, they think he did those horrible things and either respect or hate him for it. They see me and assume I'm going to be the same."

Harry patted his housemate on the back.

"You don't have to be. Besides, why follow a maniac when you can rule by yourself?"

The boys shared a grin. Daphne smirked. Hermione shook her head and Neville giggled.

"I'll never understand you Slytherins."

* * *

_**December 8, 2012**_

Hermione took a deep breath and steeled her courage as she approached the large, roughly hewn front door to the groundskeeper's cottage. The thatch roof dripped as the snow on top melted in the bright sunshine she clutched her little jar of blue flames tighter as the cold wind blew her hair about her face. It had been a rather long walk down from the quidditch pitch after the second game of the season. Although Ravenclaw had a fairly strong lineup in beaters and chasers, their seeker was abysmal and their keeper was only average. Hufflepuff's team, amazingly, was worse. It took nearly three hours for Ravenclaw to find the snitch, so long in the cold, in fact, that many of the spectators had fallen asleep around the large fires positioned throughout the stands. The end of the match had come as a surprise so great hardly anyone noticed it ended. The Slytherins, Harry included, hadn't even stayed through the second goal.

The resultant rush to leave meant Hagrid, as big as he was, beat them by a good ten minutes to his cottage on the other side of the grounds.

Neville visibly shivered beside her. He'd forgotten to leave his winter cloak out in his haste to pack for the Christmas holidays, and wore one more suited for mild weather. She passed him the jar as a bang and some barking sounded within the hut.

"Down, Fang!" a big voice boomed as the door swung open.

"'Ello Hermione! Neville! It's been a while since you last visited."

Hermione giggled. Their last visit had been because she had accidentally flown too high in her flying lesson and got caught up by an errant wind. In her haste to land, she had accidentally crushed several of the groundskeeper's cabbages. In her guilt, she'd corralled Neville into helping her plant some new ones. They'd stayed for a tea served in too-large mugs and several inedible cakes.

"Sorry about that, Hagrid. We thought we'd come before we left for Christmas, though."

The large man ushered the children in out of the cold and began bustling about, making tea and arranging some tinned biscuits – Neville and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief – onto plates. Neville rummaged in his robe and withdrew a small phial with a green twig inside.

"Brought you a gift. Hermione charmed the phial, and I got my gran to do a clipping from our gardens. If you dig a bit of a trench around your vegetables, fill it with obsidian chips and dragon dung, and plant this in it, it'll grow a three-foot-high fire hedge to keep all sorts of pests away. Just make sure you leave a space to put in a gate wide enough so you don't touch it. You can get burned pretty badly."

Hagrid's face lit up behind his bushy beard.

"Thank ye both! How thoughtful of ye. I was just tellin' Profess'r Sprout we needed something new for the school gardens. Flesh eat'n slugs always crop up real bad after Christmas hols."

"It was our pleasure," Hermione assured him. "Besides, your stories about magical creatures helped us do well on our end-of-term exams for Defence."

She was laying it on a little thick, but the man seemed rather touched. They settled in for their tea and biscuits, Neville carrying most of the conversation by talking about the salamanders he found in his family's gardens, as Hermione contemplated their next move.

It had been a very long couple of weeks since Harry's rather startling revelations in their secret tree house. They had tried finding possible candidates for the mysterious object, but each idea led to a dead end or was impossible to confirm. They had decided, therefore, to go to Hagrid. Draco had suggested it unintentionally, but Harry and Daphne had given the idea their stamp of approval before either Hermione or Neville could protest. They really needed another girl, and probably a Ravenclaw, in their group to balance out the Slytherin mob, as Hermione sometimes thought of them.

"…but I bet you'd be trusted with worse animals than that," Neville said.

Hermione tuned into the conversation again as she heard her cue.

"Actually," she said, lowering her voice and staring at her cup. People could tell she was lying if they saw her face. "We also wanted to see you because, well, we're a little concerned about Harry. But it's a secret, you know?"

"Oh, you lot can tell me. I've got the trust of Profess'r Dumbledore, after all."

Hermione and Neville exchanged a long look.

"But it's to do with Harry's home life. He'd never forgive us if he knew we asked your advice. He just won't listen," Hermione said.

Hagrid patted Hermione's hand gently.

"You can tell me. I'm dependable as a good stone house, me. Just this summer Profess'r Dumbledore even trust me with an errand for Mr Nicholas Flamel."

"Well…" Neville began, the corners of his lips twitching. "You see, Harry's dad's actually a wizard and he didn't know it until recently, and apparently he's up to all these mad experiments and Harry's worried his dad's going to get thrown in Azkaban for doing something daft."

Hagrid let out a booming laugh and clapped Neville on the back. He lurched forward in his seat.

"Is tha' all? Tha's no problem. Just get 'Arry to take 'im to the Ministry and get 'im registered as a late-bloomer. It 'appens sometimes. Not of'en, mind, but they'll sort 'im."

Hermione and Neville proceeded in thanking Hagrid profusely before finishing their tea and bidding him a happy Christmas.

"Well," Neville said as they made their way back through the deep channels Hermione had melted into the snow. "That was easier than I expected."

Hermione grinned and threw part of her cloak over Neville's shivering shoulders.

"Even better. I know who Nicholas Flamel is, I think. I'm sure I read about him not too long ago."

* * *

_**December 20, 2012**_

_Dear Neville, _

_Mum and Dad say yes, we would love to spend the New Year with you. Mum and Jen loved the invitation. You should get the official RSVP by tomorrow. Mum wanted to make sure she and Jen were properly kitted out for a magical high society ball before she put the pen to the paper. _

_Thanks again for checking on that thing for me before we left. I've got an excellent idea as to all that. Dad's especially pleased we've worked it all out. I'll update you when we get back to school. In other news, Dad's officially registered as a British wizard. He went to purchase his first wand Tuesday morning. Since then, I've been getting an excellent review of my course work and expect I'll be moving ahead into second term material, soon. As entertaining at it is for me, Mum's going nuts trying to keep up with him. _

_Does your gran like music? If so, we've got an excellent hostess's gift in mind for her. If not, please give us suggestions. We don't want to offend her; although, I'm sure Dad'll try to prove me wrong at some point. Mum says wine's a good option, but I think that's boring._

_I look forward to seeing you for the New Year. Hope you like your present! _

_Your ever-affectionate and slightly mad mate,_

_Harry_

Jenny crowed as her father made her stuffed animals and dolls dance around the sitting room carpet in a neat little waltz. Jacqueline Tyler made disapproving faces from her spot on the chaise lounge as her son, Tony, allowed his niece to plaster his face with makeup. He tried not to sneeze as the five-year-old gave him another nose-full of powder to the upper lip.

"Why are you growing so many whiskers?" she complained.

Jackie scoffed. Tony winced.

"All men grow a beard as soon as they know they can. My son barely gets some peach fuzz and decides he wants a moustache."

"Don't let your gran fool you, Jen," Tony whispered. "I'm very pretty. And I can't help the whiskers. It's puberty."

"You _are_ very pretty, Tony," the Doctor said with a smile. "And you, Jackie, quit trying to ruin Tony's fun. There's nothing wrong a little makeup and a dress. You like trousers, don't you?"

"Jeans are one thing," Jackie grumbled. "But every time I leave my house for anything more than groceries, you'd better believe I'm wearing a proper skirt and blouse. We're family to the Prime Minister, after all. Just what would people say if they saw the Prime Minister's son in all that? I don't care how tolerant people supposedly are," she ranted, turning on Tony. "Your dad'd be out of his office faster than you can imagine. I won't have it."

"Oi," Rose called as he entered, her arms laden with shopping. "No yelling. Also, my house, my rules. Tony can wear as much makeup as Tony and Jenny like. And mum, didn't I tell you things aren't so cut and dry? I've met omnisexual time agents! And the Doctor knows plenty of Time Lords and Ladies who switched gender or sex with regenerations."

Tony fell back on the carpet only to be tackled by Jenny's animated plush toys.

"Why are you all making such a fuss? I'm just letting the princess have what she wants. Ow!"

He pouted and rubbed his shoulder where Jenny's sharp little fist had connected with it.

"That hurt, you know."

"That's the point," she assured him. "Mummy," Jenny said as she turned to Rose, who had begun wrapping some of the brown-paper parcels in more festive colours.

"Since we're visiting Harry's friend Neville for the New Year and Hermione's coming over for Boxing Day, can't I have Corrine and Melissa over sometime?"

Rose bit her lip and looked to the Doctor, who frowned.

"I don't see why we can't, but you know the rules with regular people," her father said slowly.

"I know," Jenny grumbled. "They can't know about magic or any of the cool stuff we do. Sometimes, I hate that we're so odd."

Harry descended the stairs, his letter in hand, and came into the sitting room to find his grandmother loudly attempting to scrub the lipstick from his uncle's face as Tony struggled to get away. Jenny sat pouting amongst a pile of plush creatures that took turns trying to tickle her sides. The Doctor perched on a side-table, conducting the attack with his new pacific yew and dragon heartstring wand. Hedwig hooted from her perch in the corner. Her eyes were narrowed against the noise in the room, and Harry couldn't help but sympathise. He loved his grandmother, but she could be a little grating, to say the least.

"Here you go, Hedwig," he said, crossing the room to attach the letter to her leg. "It's for Neville."

"What do you think, Harry?" the Doctor called as Jenny's favourite plush, Mr Cephopolis, performed a squiddy cartwheel over his owner's tummy.

"Excellent form, Dad. Why's Jen moping?"

"I'm _not_ moping," she whined. "I'm just sick of being in a family of weirdoes."

Harry carried Hedwig to the window and gave her a little bit of a launch to help her take off. She gave him an appreciative screech as she disappeared into the growing dusk. He turned and drew his wand to set one of the other stuffed animals to duel Mr Cephopolis. Jenny's pout curled into a reluctant smile.

"Am I really that weird, Jen?" Harry asked as the teddy bear duelling Mr Cephopolis mimed a very dramatic death. "I thought you liked magic and everything."

Jenny sighed loudly.

"Oh fine! I guess weird's okay. I just wish other people could know about it."

The Doctor and Harry shared a hopeful glance.

"Someday, Jenny, love," her father said, "you and your brother, or someone like you two, will create a world where no one has to hide their weirdness."

Rose smiled and pulled Jenny to her feet, much to the protest of the stuffed animals.

"Why don't you invite them over just before term starts back up. We can arrange a slumber party for you and kick Daddy out to the tree house. Sound good?"

Jenny happily agreed allowed her father to lead her, and her brigade of stuffed creatures, back up to her room for bedtime. Jackie and Tony departed, both off to set sail on a special Christmas cruise with Pete. With Jenny in bed and their extended family off to board their ship, Harry, Rose and the Doctor breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"So," the Doctor began. "I suppose it's time we catch up for real, now."

They all gathered around the kitchen table with mugs of hot butterbeer – The Doctor had ordered several barrels from the Leaky Cauldron after their first few visits.

"We've established Dumbledore's set me up as this great hero," Harry began, "and that he's responsible for quite a lot of stupidity–"

Rose snorted and made a face.

"I'm going to ring his neck, you watch me."

"–Not to mention this business with the philosopher's stone," the Doctor finished as if his wife had not interjected.

Harry took a long draught of his butterbeer. Rose pulled out a thick folio.

"Checking through the records, Harry, love, I think we ought to assume the worst. Even though popular belief is the officials found Voldemort's body at the scene…" Rose took a deep breath and looked her son in the eye. "We looked everywhere, but there's no record of it. No burial, no cremation, no ceremonial destruction at all. There's not even record of his wand, which should have been taken into evidence if it were true. Your dad and I think he got away."

Harry breathed slowly through his nose as his father's hand settled on his shoulder. The Doctor gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I've spoken to Rax since the break-in, and he allowed me to view the vault as a personal favour. I did as many scans as I could. The types of security on that vault were akin to Gallifreyan measures of concealment and protection. No one should have been able to get in at all, no matter whether the vault was empty or not. Given that, your nightmares, and the trap Dumbledore's set…"

"You're pretty sure it's Voldemort behind everything," Harry concluded.

The boy leaned back in the sturdy wooden chair unofficially claimed as his own and tried very hard not to panic as the familiar colours and shapes of the kitchen suddenly swirled and distorted in his peripheral vision. He felt both hot and cold. His fingers felt numb around his mug and his chest felt tight.

"Harry," the Doctor soothed. "Calm down. It'll be all right."

Electricity ran up Harry's spine and ozone prickled his nostrils. He looked up to find the lights flickering and all the glass in the room shuddering. The Doctor put a steady hand on the back of his neck. Slowly, the crackling and the vibrations stopped, leaving only the slightly sharp smell of electricity in the air.

"I don't know that I want to go back," he admitted after another few moments.

He didn't want to look at either of his parents for the shame he felt in his gut. When he finally managed, though, neither seemed disappointed with him. His mum, still redheaded for her wizarding alias, smiled at him gently. Her large, mischievous eyes were softened slightly in the corners and the little laugh lines creased her skin only a little. His dad gave him a sympathetic look so full of understanding it made Harry's chest hurt a bit. Neither of them held it against him.

"You don't ever have to do anything you don't want to," Rose told him quietly. "We'll always be proud of you. Retreat doesn't make you a coward."

The Doctor rubbed the back of Harry's neck in soothing circles, just as he always did when he had been angry or sad and his mysterious power threatened to blow the room apart. The first time had been when a boy had made fun of him for being adopted in primary school. The last time had been after they'd returned home from Diagon Alley upon his introduction to the wizarding world, once he'd been able to process the truth of his birth parents' deaths.

"You're only a boy, Harry," the Doctor said firmly. "You don't have to be what Dumbledore wants you to be. You don't have to be a wizard or a hero."

The reassurances sounded so wonderful, Harry almost forgot the wriggling unease in his belly. Because, no matter what they said, they all knew Harry had already worked out something terribly important for himself.

"He came for me before he disappeared. Not my mum and dad, but me, specifically. Even with the stone distracting him, he'll take any chance to hurt me, just as he did at my first match. There's some big reason he came after me in the first place, the same reason Dumbledore's set me up the way he has, probably. He won't stop. If I don't go back to school, I won't know what's going on. He may come for me here, with you, Mum, and Dad, and Jenny…"

Harry took another deep breath and looked between his parents' faces.

"He tried to take over the wizarding world before. What do you think he'd do if he found a once-immortal _Time Lord_ and learned about all the civilisations out there? If he learned about all the different societies hidden here on earth? Forget blood politics – He'd commit genocide. Everything we've read and experienced shows he's way too powerful for us to just ignore. At least if I stay at school and in wizarding society, we'll know if something happens. And the stone…"

Rose put her face in her hands as the moisture in her eyes spilled their boundaries and the Doctor looked sadly down at his son.

"You're only eleven," he whispered.

Harry grinned timidly at his dad. Rose sobbed quietly into her palms.

"I was only one when you found me. Jenny's only five. It's obvious Dumbledore's not going to do anything to stop him because he thinks I'm stupid enough to get involved," Harry spat. "Well, I'm not interested in being the hero my idiot headmaster wants, but I don't want to risk him coming back and going after me again. I can't have him finding you lot."

The Doctor gave him a long look.

"We could go into hiding. Hell, we could leave Earth entirely. Harness the energy at the Cardiff rift and create a new TARDIS. I don't think you understand the lengths I'd go to keep you safe."

"What about everyone else, then?" Harry almost yelled.

The Doctor's bushy brows drew together in a fierce line and he slammed his fists onto the table.

"Damn everyone else! You're our son and damn them all!"

Harry examined his still steaming mug as his father's agitated breathing returning to something close to normal. He slowly spun the mug in his hands, focusing on its smooth surface and the way the base scraped the tabletop.

"I know it's crazy, but… I think it's worth it. I think I ought to try to be all I can be as a wizard, even with Voldemort out there. I don't want to live a life running from a life of magic and mystery. I want to help the wizarding world. I want Jenny to be able to go to Hogwarts if she turns out to be a witch."

He looked into the Doctor's conflicted aspect. Rose had jumped at his earlier outburst and now studied her son's upturned face.

"Is this what you really want?" she said a little shakily.

Harry nodded without hesitation.

"I'm scared, but I'm more afraid of what could happen if I didn't try," he said.

Rose caught her husband's eye.

"He's right about everything, of course. He's your son. But I think we should have a chat with this Dumbledore person, and soon."

The Doctor sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"Yes. Okay. But I think it's time for a career change, too."

Harry's brief relief at having convinced his parents of his dedication to the current path waned a little at that pronouncement. The Doctor had only been working at the Ministry for a little over two months, after all.

"What change?" he asked.

"Isn't your history of magic professor a complete and utter bore?"

* * *

A/N: I was a little unsure as I was writing this chapter. It fought against me unlike any of its predecessors. Let me know what you think and thank you for taking the time to read and review.

Love,

Forensica X


	11. A Normal Christmas

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Here's some fluff, some drama, and a pinch of magical history, just for fun. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

A Normal Christmas

* * *

_**December 25, 2012**_

Ever since Harry could remember, Christmas had always been his favourite holiday, even though his mum and dad and grandma Jackie told him he cried throughout his first one. But, even that slightly melancholy occasion led to a tradition that had not been broken since.

The Doctor on Christmas was something to behold. After Harry had run out of tears and lost his voice for bawling as a one year old baby, his new dad had somehow managed to make it snow indoors, so he could not be distracted by sadness again.

The first Christmas Harry could personally remember, a hovering train engine perfectly sized for a little boy of four or so zoomed him around their then-small sitting room. When he was six and Jenny had only just been born, the Doctor somehow corralled a live team of deer into giving them a sleigh ride down the street and to church. They also managed to have Jenny baptised, then, too, at Jackie's insistence of "tradition trumps time travelling" or something along those lines.

This morning, Harry lay in bed, staring at his ceiling a little groggily as he counted down in his head. For the past couple of years, Jenny had risen at exactly five thirty, run straight down the hallway, and leapt into his bed so as to beat him about the face with her stuffed purple squid, Mr Cephopolis, in order to–

The door slammed open and Harry grunted as Jenny's weight slammed into his stomach.

"Wake up! Wake up! It's Christmas!"

Harry groaned and pushed his glassed onto his face as he sat up. Jenny was the picture of excitement and childish cuteness in a set of footed mint coloured pyjamas and mussed red hair held back by a reindeer antler headband. Harry pulled on a jumper as he slid off his very comfortable mattress.

"You know, the presents won't sprout legs and walk off if we sleep in on Christmas morning," he said even as he crouched to give his sister a piggyback ride.

The little girl's arms clamped around Harry's neck and shoulders and her knees dug impatiently into his sides.

"Mush!" she shouted, waving the squid at him.

"When I get older and turn into a cranky teenager like Tony, remember how nice I was to you," Harry grunted while he made his way down the stairs. "Or when you get older and decide I'm your annoying brother."

Jenny giggled.

"But you _are_ my annoying brother."

Harry's slippered feet shuffled down the stairs more slowly than usual, which gave Jenny cause to whip him several times about the face with her plush, which would have ended in disaster if Harry hadn't been levitating her a little to ease the weight.

Either way, they managed to navigate the stairs and cross the entry into the sitting room, where the Christmas tree stood resplendent in the sparkling ornaments of Christmases past, the twinkling, fluttering fairies Harry had caught before leaving the castle, and magically spun ice sickles clinging to every branch. Presents overflowed the rich velvet rug beneath the tree and a miniature version of the Hogwarts express wound its way through the valleys of tinsel, new toys and gaily wrapped parcels. Jenny's Lego minifigures had been dressed in tiny black robes in the night, the little garments painstakingly painted with Hogwarts colours so that the little figures looked like tiny Lego wizards-in-training.

Jenny and Harry stood in arched doorway, still taking it all in. Jenny slowly slid off Harry's back to hold his hand.

"Wow," she whispered.

"Santa's overdone it this year."

"Never say that," the Doctor said in Harry's ear.

The boy jumped and laughed.

"Don't sneak up on people, Dad!"

"Good you're not _people_, then."

Jenny spun and jumped into her father's arms.

"Daddy, look what Santa did!"

The Doctor beamed. Rose peaked around the corner at them, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her against the cold. She turned to fetch a tray of hot cocoa, scones, and pumpkin bread from the kitchen before joining her husband and children around the tree as the kids descended like animals on the many wrapped parcels.

Jenny stared at the wonderful new toy before her. It hovered just at the perfect mounting height, its tail bristles carefully arranged in precise order, its handle gleaming with the words _Comet 290C Children's Model_, as the little girl gaped. Harry laughed beside her.

"But I'm not a witch," Jenny said a little sadly.

Rose grinned.

"Actually, darling, your dad's a wizard based on official wizard standards. We've been doing scans on you, too, and we think there's a fair chance you are. Your daddy thought this would be a good way to test it. And if it doesn't work, he'll fix it so it does, anyway."

"Can I try it right now?" she squealed.

Harry winced and Hedwig squawked in protest at the noise.

"Please mummy?"

"In the back garden and not above the trees. Harry, go with her."

The kids grinned at each other and raced to the back door. Harry's broom, stored in his bedroom for the holiday, zoomed down the stairs and out the door to meet him at its master's silent summons. Moments later, hoops and hollers of joy filtered back into the house.

"I'm a witch!" Jenny screamed triumphantly as she rode her new broom around the garden.

Rose and the Doctor strolled to the terrace to watch, huddled in their dressing gowns and clutching cups of steaming tea. The broom only rose perhaps six feet off the ground and went no more than fifteen miles an hour, but it was enough to make both parents flinch every so often as the little girl careened away from the trees shielding the garden.

"Maintain a steady grip," Harry instructed her. "Your left hand should be steering from behind your right one, so if you ever need to use your wand while flying, you can."

Harry demonstrated by summoning a snowball to him from the light dusting over the grass. Rose frowned up at the sky overhead.

"Did you notice, it's raining everywhere else and we have snow?" she said after blinking around for a minute.

The Doctor shrugged.

"Santa's magic."

Rose giggled and slid her arms into her husband's robe to wrap around his waist.

"Santa deserves a very special sort of Christmas gift later."

"Yes please," the Doctor squeaked.

But then Jenny, overexcited and giggling madly, somehow managed to summon all the snow off the roof to blast not only Harry, but her parents as well.

No one noticed as a brown paper-wrapped parcel tied with simple twine appeared amongst the wreckage around the Christmas tree.

* * *

_**December 26, 2012**_

Harry tried very hard not to laugh as Hermione worked herself into a strop at the revelation she was only forbidden magic at home because neither of her parents were a wizard or a witch. They were only a few minutes into their Boxing Day visit, having just entered the sitting room for a spot of eggnog and conversation before lunch. Hermione had taken in the fairy lights, the snow through the back windows, and Jenny's army of carolling plushies, and descended into a righteous rant as her parents looked on in alarm.

"It's just not fair! It's blood politics all over again! It's no wonder we're expected to do badly when our 'betters' have extra practice over the holidays!"

"Hermione," Harry tried again, but she wasn't quite ready to talk yet.

"Why is no one else outraged as I am? It's ridiculous! And you know, purebloods are more likely to break the Statute of Secrecy than any muggleborn, seeing as how ignorant they are of the rest of the world! Not to mention most of them have all the sense of my left boot!"

The girl huffed and plopped unceremoniously onto the loveseat between her parents. They looked down at her in bemusement. Harry grinned.

"Of course it's not right," he began, speeding the sentence as Hermione's stony glare focused on him. "But we'll fix it when we're older. And I was trying to say, in the meantime, you can get connected to the Floo Network and come over anytime to practice. We're already connected."

The girl rolled her eyes.

"You mean they'll let my so-called 'muggle' parents have one?"

"Yes," Harry said seriously. "It's actually a safety measure advised to all parents, in case anyone needs a secure escape route."

The Doctor cleared his throat.

"But, seeing as how biased the Ministry is and how fickle politics can be, not to mention the price, why don't I just set it up for you?" he suggested. "I do work for them in an official capacity. I'd be happy to help. Then you can visit any wizarding establishment as you please."

The Grangers nodded.

"Thank you. That would make things easier for us. It's a chore to go into town sometimes, and I know Hermione would love to go to Flourish and Blotts more often," Jean said.

"Well," the bushy-haired girl grumbled. "I'm still going to raise a fuss someday. It's not fair."

"I'll help," Harry agreed.

After that brief drama, the conversation turned to school itself, their respective Christmases and gifts, and the visit became quite fun.

Hermione delighted in being able to show her parents what she was learning. She very gladly levitated a hyper Jenny about the snowy garden as the little girl mimed a Superman pose. She had even tied a sheet around her neck like a cape. Then, just as he had promised in the bookshop months ago, Harry attempted to teach Hermione (and Jenny, since she had been confirmed a witch) wandless casting.

"It's like wanded casting, but not quite," he explained. "The feeling you have when you cast is the same, but its location is different, if that makes any sense. When I use my wand, I feel the magic around it. When I ask my magic to perform without, the energy focuses wherever it's meant to. Sometimes it's in my hands. Sometimes it's somewhere in my chest. It's even been in my feet a couple of times. It's less structured, and a little less controlled at first."

Harry took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose a bit as he focused. He held out his hand a moment and a biscuit sailed neatly into his palm from the tray on the coffee table.

"The first time we noticed Harry doing magic," Rose said a little wistfully, "he summoned a biscuit from the tin all the way from the sitting room. I thought I was going mad."

Mrs Granger blanched and laughed weakly.

"It's the same for us. We were reading, and apparently, I wasn't reading the right book because the next thing I know, _Peter Rabbit_ was flying off the shelf at me. I tried to write it off as something I ate, but it happened again."

Hermione screwed up her face and closed her eyes. Jenny followed suit and cheered when Mr Cephopolis twitched and jumped into her arms. The older girl's face crumbled.

"If I did it when I was little, why can't I now?" she asked quietly.

The Doctor smiled gently and patted her shoulder.

"Don't worry. Keep trying and it'll come back to you. Perhaps…" he glanced between her suddenly quiet parents.

Rose made a sound of understanding.

"It's okay, you know. It's not your fault you told her not to do it when she was little. I'm sure you thought she was possessed or something, the way our media makes out paranormal, right?"

Jean nodded once, her face impossibly sad. Hermione held her mother's hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Someone from Hogwarts or the Ministry should have explained things to you so you didn't have to worry. It was the right thing to have done, but it seems they're failing in a lot of areas concerning the non-wizarding side of things," Rose said firmly. "My dad's Pete Tyler, and he said the Minister of Magic only visits him when things go wrong or for the yearly report."

The Grangers goggled as they digested that part of the sentence, but eventually nodded in acceptance.

"Yeah, Mum," Hermione said quietly. "I know you were only trying to protect me. And you haven't stunted me or anything. I'm doing perfectly well at Hogwarts."

"Better than that," Harry laughed. "She's top in her year, I'm pretty sure."

The girl rolled her eyes and batted Harry's shoulder.

"Am not. I'm four points behind you, thank you very much. Snape's completely unfair."

"Well, first for all girls, then, and definitely first out of all Gryffindor, Hufflepuff _and_ Ravenclaw. The ravens hate that, I'm sure. They're not used to being beaten, never mind by a Hufflepuff."

By the end of Lunch, Jean and Rose had become great friends as they recounted all the strange things they'd witnessed as mothers to magical children, and the Doctor and Jonathan were engaged in a lively conversation about space – Jonathan Granger was an amateur astronomer and a space travel enthusiast.

Harry and Hermione delighted in entertaining Jenny and practicing wandless magic. Finally, Hermione managed to summon the leftover bits of paper littering the area around the tree, but had trouble with heavier items.

She sighed as she failed again to lift the parcel hiding behind the lowest boughs of the fir and turned to Harry in growing disappointment.

"Maybe it's just too heavy," he quickly suggested, going around the tree.

He picked up the parcel and frowned at the name scrawled on the heavy cardstock tag.

"Mum?" he called. "Did either you or Dad wrap anything in brown paper?"

The conversation died off on the other side of the sitting room.

"Of course not," Rose said.

Harry came back around the other side of the tree with the parcel in hand. The Doctor walked over and frowned at the strange inscription.

"Use it well…" he made a low humming sound in the back of his throat and sniffed the tag. "Lemon and sugar. I know this handwriting."

His brows drew low over his intense gaze as he detached the tag. He tapped it once with his wand and it flew obligingly across the room to Rose's outstretched hand.

"That's _his_ handwriting."

"Whose handwriting?" Hermione asked, curious as ever.

"Don't worry about it," the Doctor said, his expression transforming to one of easy peace. "Just the usual gag gift from a particularly annoying relative."

Mr and Mrs Granger laughed at that. Hermione gave Harry a suspicious look.

Later, after the Grangers had returned home and Jenny and Harry were in bed, Rose and the Doctor opened the parcel to find the most astonishing gift inside.

"Invisibility cloaks are real," the Doctor whispered.

"It's not just another perception-altering thing?" Rose whispered back.

"No. This is the real deal. Something entirely different. You put this on and it does more than tricks your eyes and brain. You don't reflect or absorb light. It just passes through you as if you weren't there at all."

Rose let out a low whistle.

"Imagine what the Torchwood gang would have to say about this. Or UNIT."

"Hm," the Doctor grunted. "Best not let them know about it, then."

"So," Rose said as she sat across the Doctor's lap. "Should Harry have it?"

Her husband deliberated as he played with Rose's hair.

"You know, I like it best when it's blonde."

Rose laughed ran her fingers through her Doctor's windswept locks. She grabbed hold a little tighter than absolutely necessary, causing her husband to close his eyes and chuckle against her throat.

"Maybe I'll dye it back and buy a wig. You're avoiding the question, though."

The Doctor laughed and lifted his wife up into his arms.

"I'll ask Rax about it tomorrow. See if it really was James Potter's. Now, I believe you said something about a special present sometime yesterday?"

Giggling, the two not-quite grown-ups raced up the stairs as quietly as they could. Their door closed with a decidedly playful click as the automatic lock slid into place.

* * *

_**December 31, 2012**_

_Draco,_

_How are you? I must say I'm not disappointed Madam Longbottom failed to invite your most prestigious father to tonight's ball. As much as I personally enjoy your wit and charm, I think the constant politicking we would most assuredly witness completely puts me off the prospect of attending such an event, or it would, if you had been invited, that is._

_I've been told we're not to worry about that last assignment we received. It's apparently been postponed until term begins again, or at least that's what our mutual friend says._

_Thank you again for your lovely Christmas gift. Mother was most surprised to see your card among the usual collection. She thinks perhaps you fancy me. I promptly disabused her of that notion, and will take this opportunity to remind you that if you should ever consider such a thing, yourself, I will cheerfully disembowel you in your sleep and feed your innards to my owl. Just so you're aware and forewarned._

_I look forward to seeing you back at school and hope you had a happy Christmas. _

_Sincerely,_

_ Daphne_

* * *

Longbottom Manor nestled upon sprawling grounds just west of the village of Ovington, in Hampshire. It sat enclosed by thick, lush forests and several sparkling greenhouses. The manor, draped in garlands of holly and mistletoe, watched over lawns and gardens decorated with ice crystals and living fairies. As the clock struck nine, the two fireplaces in either reception room roared to life and wizards and witches strolled from their hearths, resplendent in robes of shimmering silks, satins, and fine, lush furs. Daphne and Neville waited in the west reception hall, both wearing equally rich dress robes cut from pale fabrics. They gave nods of greeting and welcome as each guest arrived from the immense fireplace; most of which were Neville's relatives or acquaintances.

"Do you think they'll be able to make it?" he asked again.

Daphne barely resisted rolling her eyes and wondered, briefly, if it would have been better to be born a Granger so she, too could submit to herself to the baser desires of her biology. Like rolling her eyes, or laughing loudly, or showing exasperation with more than a delicate twitch of her brow or wave of her hand.

"Neville, they sent their acceptance, did they not?"

The boy, much slimmer than at the beginning of the year thanks to his dedication to Harry's fitness routine, fitfully wound and unwound the shining chain of his fob watch around his left thumb. He managed a jerky nod and a handshake for his Great Uncle Algie as the stooped old man came through the fireplace.

"Good to see you looking so well, Neville. Where's Augusta gone off to?"

"Gran's in the other reception hall for now, Uncle," Neville replied, casting a nervous glance to Daphne.

The girl, uncommonly lovely in her shimmering, pale mauve robes and intricately woven chignon, stepped forward with a charming smile and an outstretched, satin-gloved hand.

"Mr Algernon Croaker, I presume," she said. "Perhaps you would be so kind to escort me to the ballroom? I believe your wife, Madam Enid Croaker already arrived."

The old man shuddered and offered Daphne his arm as he called over his shoulder at Neville.

"If you've got to marry, Neville, my boy, pick someone young and pretty like Miss Greengrass, here, and die before she gets old and crotchety like your Auntie."

Neville threw Daphne a grateful look as she led his great uncle from the room. Before he could settle himself for the next awkward arrival, however, the fireplace belched a massive cloud of dust and spat out a tumble of robes and limbs. Harry coughed out a lungful of soot as he stumbled out onto the Longbottoms' hearth. Jenny shot out after him and giggled as she slid, upended, across the marble floor.

Neville smiled and rushed to upright the little girl as her older brother cast a dusting charm over himself and tried, in vain, to smooth his re-mussed hair.

"I thought you'd travelled by floo before," Neville laughed.

Harry sneezed and proceeded to banish the dust from his sister and the previously spotless floor and furnishings.

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "Read about it and saw it done, but I've never had the chance. Hopefully Dad and Mum have practiced, or else we might need more help with the cleaning."

Free of soot and once again pristine in a well-cut cream coloured robe, white dress shirt, light blue cravat and gold brocade waistcoat, Harry took Neville's arm and gave him a manly hug before taking Jenny's hand. She smiled up at the boy shyly, the picture of childlike adorableness in her pale gold silk dress and chiffon robe of the same colour.

"May I introduce my sister, Jenny Renette Smith," Harry said a little proudly.

Neville grinned and gave Jenny's hand a squeeze and a gentle handshake.

"Hello Jenny. I'm Neville, Harry's schoolmate."

Jenny, devil that she was, smiled broadly.

"I'm pleased to meet you. My brother says you have plants here that can strangle people. Can I have one?"

Neville laughed and shook his head at Harry.

"I can tell you're related," he whispered as the fire blazed brighter again.

The Doctor and Rose made their entrance with far more grace than their children, simply strolling out of the emerald flames as if they did so every day. Rose looked about with a huge smile.

"It's like Cardiff all over again," she said in the Doctor's ear.

He grinned as they strolled over to Neville, who had snapped to nervous attention in the presence of adults, as was his habit, despite his numerous meetings with these particular adults through the tree house.

"This is marvellous," the Doctor crowed, admiring the white crown moulding, marble floors, and pastel floral wallpaper gleefully. "Mid to late eighteenth century, is it not, Mr Longbottom?"

Neville nodded and took the Doctor's proffered hand.

"Yes, Sir. My Great, Great Grandfather Alden Wesley Alderic Burke Longbottom was an innovator of wizarding architecture. Gran told me he and his friend, Mr John Nash, developed this style together. It became very popular among a lot of old households and businesses after they redid Longbottom Manor."

The Doctor hooted and beamed about.

"Marvellous. John Nash, really."

Rose shooed her husband out of the way and bent to kiss Neville's cheek.

"Well, it's wonderful finally meeting you. I can't tell you how grateful we are you've been looking after Harry for us."

Harry coughed something that sounded like _M__um! _Neville blushed. It wasn't often a very beautiful woman (in a most modern robe with a square, low neckline revealing a creamy expanse of décolletage) kissed him.

"It's no problem," the boy squeaked, quite red. "Harry's been looking out for me, too."

"Good," she said, still gently smiling. She winked and took her son's arm. "We'll see you in the ballroom, I hope."

"Yes, Ma'am," he croaked.

Rose giggled as she led her children out of the reception hall and down an equally luxurious corridor toward the sound of low chatter, clinking crystal, and a softly playing chamber orchestra. The Doctor offered Rose his arm as they approached the open double doors to the ballroom and Harry slid smoothly back to take Jenny's little gloved hand. She pouted at little. She hated getting dressed up for any reason, and hated formality worse.

"Remember," Harry reminded her. "You're in disguise and mum and dad said you could eat all the cake and ice cream you could stand."

"What if wizards don't do cake and ice cream at parties?" she hissed.

"Then I promise I'll point you out to all the sweets they _do_ have."

As chance would have it, however, Jenny had little to worry about.

The ballroom was already full to bursting when they entered. A few people danced over the polished parquet floor as the patterns in the wood changed in subtle, smooth motions beneath their feet. Chandeliers dripping with crystals sent sparkling, flickering beams of light against the ecru walls and gold trimming. Soaring windows, framed in polished gold, mirrored the sea of dancing, chatting, celebrating witches and wizards. Little crystal spheres containing ever-burning candles floated overhead like so many shimmering ice sculptures, refracting rainbows on the otherwise unadorned ceiling.

"Beautiful," the Doctor whispered.

"I _love _magic," Rose agreed.

"It's like in my book of fairytales," Jenny said. "It's more amazing than Buckingham palace."

Harry smiled.

"Hogwarts is even better, even if it's not as fancy as this."

"Mr Smith!"

The family turned as a formidable looking woman in a Victorian gown and matching robe of dark aubergine and black lace swept toward them. She wore a black-dyed ostrich plume in her white hair and a cunning look on her thin, handsome face.

The Doctor fell into a graceful bow.

"Madam Longbottom," he acknowledged.

Rose smiled and took a slight step back as the old woman allowed her hand to be kissed.

"I have heard quite a lot from my grandson about you and your lovely family. Especially the young Mr Potter."

The Doctor smiled proudly.

"All good, I hope," he said. "May I introduce my wife, Roselyn, my son, Harry, and my daughter, Jenny Renette."

Harry performed a polite bow after his mum and Jenny curtsied.

"Indeed," said Madam Longbottom. "Very good things. Actually, I was quite intrigued to meet the people who've had such a profound effect on my Neville."

She surveyed them all with a cautious eye. Jenny stepped forward and tugged the woman's skirt. Augusta looked down at her with pursed lips.

"Yes, Miss Jenny Renette?"

"Do I count Mrs Longbottom? I only just met Neville today."

The old woman raised a dark eyebrow and the Doctor and Rose tried not to smile.

"Why? Are you needed elsewhere?" Augusta finally said.

"Not really, but I was promised sweets if I behaved, and I _am _behaving and I would much rather explore the desserts if that's alright."

"Precocious child," the woman said, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. "If I am so boring and old, yes, you may. Dippy!"

A young house elf liveried in gold and white appeared at Augusta's knee. She bowed so low her nose nearly touched the curled toes of her long, narrow slippers.

"May Dippy be of service, Madam?"

The woman nodded and took Jenny's hand.

"I would like you to look after Miss Smith, please," she commanded. "See that she's well stuffed with all the chocolate she likes."

The little elf bowed again.

"Yes, Madam. Dippy will take great care of little Mistress."

Jenny lit up and gave Augusta a hug about the knees before taking Dippy's hand.

"I'm Jenny," she told her. "Is your name really 'Dippy'? That's a wonderful fun name!"

The little elf's eyes watered with adoration as she guided the little girl away. The adults and Harry smiled after her. Augusta's stern visage softened slightly.

"I would have liked to have a granddaughter or a few more grandsons," she sighed. "You have a lovely family, Mr Smith."

The Doctor inclined his head in humble acceptance of the compliment.

"It's all my wife's doing," he assured the venerable woman.

Rose smiled and Augusta Longbottom thawed that much more. She granted them a small twitch of her lips and held herself high as she gestured to the stateliest of the many elegant seating areas around the edges of the room. Augusta led them choose seats among three settees of old, polished wood and rich burgundy brocade positioned beneath a marble relief of the Longbottom family crest. As soon as the Doctor and Rose sat, Harry opposite them and Augusta in the centre, crystal flutes of champagne and a platter of elaborate hors d'oeuvres appeared on the low coffee table.

"That's wonderful," Rose said as she put a few of the more imaginative treats on a fine silver and crystal plate.

"The Longbottom elves are the finest I have ever encountered in society," Augusta said proudly. "I shall pass on your compliments."

"I've been wanting to ask someone," the Doctor said as he took a sip of champagne. "What _is_ the exact relationship between elves and humans?"

The Longbottom matriarch sniffed in distaste and sat a little straighter upon her throne-like settee.

"I see you really _are_ newly introduced to society, despite your lordly bearing and dress," she said. "Most would be rather shocked at your breech of decorum."

The Doctor grinned as the corner of Augusta's mouth twitched. Harry shared a secret smile with his mum as he loaded up his plate. He could feel a new friendship building between the daunting old lady and his immutably mischievous dad.

"However," Augusta continued, "_I_ am happy to educate you on the matter."

She took a sip of champagne.

"First off, house elves are not the same as the elves of old, but the result of a very dark history. It is one not found in public works of literature, since most records of the destruction of the old Elven Race managed to be 'lost' so as to avoid undoing those dark deeds. Fortunately, however, the Longbottom journals date back so far as to precede the official founding of our House."

Rose frowned around a bite exceptional pâté.

"I don't like the sound of that," she said after blotting the corners of her mouth with her serviette. "House elves somehow came about from genocide?"

"Indeed," Augusta said darkly. "The Elven Race, the proper Elven Race, is closely related to that of the Veela of Eastern Europe. They were winged beings of great intelligence, beauty, allurement, and, most of all, magic," she murmured. "Not unlike the muggle idea of angels."

"In addition to performing the sort of magic common to house elves today, they also held sway over elements and nature, all without wands, or spells, or incantations of any type."

"Ah," the Doctor sighed. "Wizards were jealous."

"Very," Augusta muttered. "Envious and stupid. Unable to handle their own feelings of inferiority, despite the kindness and helpfulness of Elf-kind, a few evil men hatched a plan."

"Well," she sighed, interrupting herself. "I say a few, but it was probably nearer a hundred of them. The Elves never stood a chance. They were never many in number, and their people wandered from forest to forest across Europe and Asia with the changing of the seasons, so it was a simple matter for these men to track them and attack."

The food in Harry's stomach suddenly felt heavy. He barely noticed when the cushion shifted beside him as Neville joined their number.

"Elves were nonviolent beings, slow to fight back with significant force even as the men slaughtered them. However, by the time they realised the wizards could not be reasoned with and would not be stopped by mere incapacitation, it was too late. The majority of their number lay dead, most of them females, as these were the most powerful elves and, therefore, the greatest threat to the wizards. The adult males went next. At the end of the bloodshed, only the children remained."

Harry felt shame and dread creeping through him with each of Augusta's words. He could not look up at his mother, who he knew would be the picture of distress and anger, or at his father, whose stony face was as frightening to behold as it was disturbing. Neville gave his shoulder a gentle, subtly reassuring nudge.

"I shall spare you the gruesome details, but in short, these Elven children were tested, bonded and bred for the traits those wizards enjoyed best. Many of them were killed because they showed too much power or wilfulness. A few especially beautiful female elves were kept for other purposes, and the Veela race was born. They, thankfully, rebelled early in their history and freed themselves from Wizard control.

"The remainder became the house elves you have seen: Kind, gentle beings with an aptitude for service, bound in that capacity by a magical contract invented to keep them obedient on pain of death."

A horrible stillness settled on their small party, a bubble of disquiet on the edge of a magnificent celebration just beyond the little arrangement of settees. Harry heard the Doctor take a slow, deep breath through his nose.

"Augusta – May I call you Augusta?" he asked.

Madam Longbottom inclined her head.

"If you know all this, how can you _keep_ house elves?"

The old woman gave a short, sardonic laugh.

"As I said, they serve on pain of death. They were magically _bound_ to service of wizards. To break such a contract, or to be forcibly dismissed from it, is to sacrifice one's life. How can I ask the elves whose contracts I inherited _not _to serve, given that? And else, if I were to give the Longbottom elves to another estate, how could I ensure they would not be mistreated? The original contract gave no limitations to a wizard's power over his elves just as it gave elves no way to disobey without facing severe punishment." She paused, her face a cold mask of aged fury. "It is a perversion of morality, is it not?"

"So, there's nothing to be done," Rose breathed. "They die if they try to leave or–"

"They cannot leave," Augusta interrupted. "The contract magically compels them to punish themselves for even considering such a prospect. They may only leave their wizard families if they are let go. And, unless they are bonded again post-haste, they are slowly driven to madness and death, all whilst suffering unimaginable pain."

"That's horrible," Harry whispered.

"Barbaric," Neville said shakily.

Harry's head jerked up. Neville's head was bowed to hide his tears. Harry's heart swelled with pride for his wonderfully kind friend.

"There's nothing to be done?" the Doctor asked grimly.

Augusta patted his hand in a comforting gesture.

"Only what I, and the likeminded few, have already done. I treat the Longbottom elves with dignity and respect as members of our household, and I taught my son, and now my grandson, to do the same. I sit the Wizengamot and wait in hope of such a time that I might bring to bear new legislation forbidding the mistreatment of house elves."

"The Hogwarts elves," Harry began hesitantly. "They don't serve a family at all. How do they survive?"

"Very good observation, Mr Potter. Originally, the Hogwarts founders brought their personal elves to serve in the castle. The creation of the houses was, in part, a way to bond the elves to _Hogwarts_ herself, rather than to any one family or individual," Madam Longbottom explained. "The original contract had two parts: the first forced servitude to wizards in general and the second bonded specific elves to a specific wizard or family of wizards. This allowed elves to be traded, bought, and sold, and as a side effect, allowed them to seek new households in the event of the family's extinction or in the case of dismissal."

"So," Neville mused, "Hogwarts elves serve _Hogwarts _wizards based on the houses."

"Very good, Neville," Augusta said.

Neville perked up quite a lot and smiled shakily.

"Exactly right. Anyone sorted by the Hat at any time in his or her life may call upon a Hogwarts elf, though they are only obliged to come if you are within the grounds or currently a student or staff member."

Rose took up her champagne and drained the glass only for it to refill before it touched the table again. The Doctor raised his own flute and the others, Neville and Harry included, mirrored him.

"To the house elves," he intoned. "May we help them find a better solution soon."

"To the house elves," Harry, Neville, and Rose echoed.

"Hear, hear," Augusta proclaimed.

The adults drank deeply while the boys sipped the crisp, slightly floral champagne.

"Harry! Neville!"

They turned as Daphne and Hermione arm-in-arm, trailed by the formally dressed Grangers and a couple so elegant they could only be the Greengrasses, strolled toward them. The boys and Harry's parents stood to greet the newcomers.

"Grandmother," Neville pronounced, gesturing to Hermione's parents. "These are Mr and Mrs Granger of Crawley, and their daughter, Miss Hermione Granger."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Madam Longbottom said, nodding to them all before turning her gaze to the uniquely beautiful lady and dashing gentleman behind them. "Lady Greengrass, Mr Montague, do come meet the Smiths. Neville, Harry, you do these young ladies a disservice by remaining here. Besides, your seats are required."

The boys obligingly took their leave, both happy to leave the remaining gloom of the previous conversation behind them. Augusta's mouth turned upward in a small smile as the four children walked away.

"I shall have to invite you to stay sometime, Mr and Mrs Smith," she declared. "Your son has had a most excellent effect on my Neville. A few months prior, he would never have ventured out of his chair, let alone scamper off like a normal boy his age. I was rather worried I had failed in his upbringing, so shy and reserved was he."

Rose beamed after her son and the Doctor squeezed her hand.

"Not at all, Madam. Before Harry went met Neville, we were afraid he'd never find a good mate."

* * *

Neville, Hermione, Daphne and Harry made their way to one of the freestanding cocktail tables on the other side of the ballroom, near the wall of windows and open French doors looking out onto a marble terrace and the lush gardens of Longbottom Manor. More of the guests had started dancing and many, having imbibed more than enough champagne, performed feats of beautiful magic as they waltz. One witch directed the movements of a unicorn constructed entirely of magic and light as she twirled about the floor with her husband. Neville rolled his eyes as he slid into a bow-legged chair. Harry watched in amusement as its spindle legs shivered and straightened to lift its passenger to an appropriate height relative to the tall table.

"Wizards can't help but show off when they get together," Daphne quipped as she, too, sat.

"I love magic," Hermione giggled. Her chair took a little longer to respond, and had to be tickled in the right spot before it would elevate her.

"It's so whimsical," Harry said, examining the solid ice menu in the centre of their table. "Aren't any of you hungry? I feel as if I'd go for one of Hagrid's rock cakes."

Daphne wrinkled her nose.

"Don't be vulgar. Just tell the menu what you want."

"Minced lamb pies, please?" Harry asked the sheet of ice, feeling very silly.

To his delight, however, a crystal platter of artfully arranged pastries topped with fresh mint appeared, replacing the menu as it floated to hover just out of the way. He ate one of the miniature pies and nearly groaned at the sweet and savoury flavour. Hermione and Daphne, apparently too tempted to resist, each took one while Neville loaded his plate.

"Oh," Hermione sighed. "That's delightful."

"Yes, excellent choice," Daphne

Harry couldn't speak. He steadily ate five of the little things before his hunger and craving were sated enough to allow such mundane activities.

"So," he finally managed. "Your gran throws one of these every year?"

Neville ducked as a sparrow firework flew over his head and back toward the dance floor.

"No, actually. This is the first one since I was eight or so. She doesn't like people coming here, anymore, but she wanted an excuse to meet you and your mum and dad."

"I expect there's some political reasons behind it, too," Daphne commented. "Just from looking at the guests, I can tell she's hoping to reinforce some old alliances and make some new ones."

Their host looked across the dance floor in mild surprise.

"Oh. I guess you're right. She wouldn't have invited Rookwood, otherwise."

"I hate politics," Hermione muttered. "It's requires too much sneakiness."

Harry and Daphne laughed.

"Don't fib," she reprimanded. "I know better than anyone you've got as many Slytherin tendencies as me."

"Oh, hush," the Hufflepuff retorted. "Just because I understand it and know how doesn't mean I like it."

"Lie all you like to yourself. That's your business," the dark haired girl smirked. "Harry, I demand you dance with me. You _do_ know how to dance, don't you?"

Despite Harry's protests of limited practice and ability, however, he could not shake his housemate from her course of action and found himself dragged to the dance floor. Unwilling to be a damper on the evening for his friend, Harry commenced in leading Daphne on a lively fox trot through the ballroom in time to the unfamiliar wizarding music. Neville and Hermione joined them a little later in a more sedate waltz.

On the fringes of the ballroom, Jenny, fingers only clean of chocolate due to Dippy's attentive efforts, chattered happily with her new pointy-eared friend.

"Do you think you could come visit me sometimes, Dippy?" Jenny asked as she chased a rather large éclair with her third hot cocoa of the evening.

The little elf grinned and passed the little human girl the serviette, which she obligingly used to rid herself of her foamy new moustache.

"Dippy would like that very much, Little Miss," she gushed. "Dippy loves children very much, and Little Misstress Jenny is very, very sweet and fun."

"Really?" Jenny giggled. "Let's ask mum and dad and Mrs Longbottom later, okay?"

"We shall ask Madam before you go. Dippy promises."

Jenny clapped as someone conjured several dozen vibrantly blue butterflies to flutter overhead.

"Let's go dance!" she exclaimed. "It looks like a lot of fun!"

Dippy, giggling as if she were doing something decidedly naughty, happily allowed the little girl to lead her on a wild, twirling dance around the room. They only stopped when the girl, exhausted after so much caffeine and activity, slumped into a cushy chaise lounge in the corner of the hall. Dippy settled in to watch over her as the clock ticked toward midnight and the countdown began. Even the cacophony of a hundred wizards setting of fireworks and sparks and bangs couldn't wake the girl. Or, it wouldn't have, even if Dippy _hadn't_ put up a noise cancelling charm for her darling charge.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read and review my little tale. Expect an update by next Tuesday, if not sooner. I'm posting updates as I finish the next to allow myself a bit of cushion in case I run out of steam. Let me know how you feel about things and special thanks to those of you who review with every update.

-Forensica X


	12. Smoke and Mirrors

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: I hate repeating myself, but the conversation in the first part of the chapter's sort of necessary and I couldn't find a way to keep it brief without royally upsetting the flow. I'll try not to make a habit of it. Also, I made a correction to the quidditch schedule, which is reflected both here and in previous chapters. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Smoke and Mirrors

* * *

_**January 3, 2013**_

Harry slid the compartment door shut after Draco as dragged his trunk across the threshold. Neville helped him levitate it to a wrack before inviting the boy to join him in the wide, plush seat. Draco gave the Gryffindor an odd look, but accepted the invitation at the expectant look from the girls seated opposite. Harry retook his spot by the window and stared long and hard at the compartment door while his friends exchanged polite greetings and small talk. He wrinkled his nose and breathed deep and tasted the magic around him and exerted his will until the door practically hummed with the ambiguous energy of his intent. The lock clicked, the window darkened, and everyone turned to stare at the portal in surprise just as the train whistled and started away from the platform.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Neville asked.

"I've never heard about anything like that," Daphne said.

"_You're_ doing wandless magic," Draco whispered. "How is that possible?"

Harry grimaced.

"Easy. I'll teach you if you want. What I'm going to tell you is much harder, which is why I eavesdropper-proofed the door."

"What can be more interesting than an eleven-year-old doing wandless magic?" Daphne asked doubtfully.

"Harry taught me how over the holidays," Hermione said. "It's really not that hard. It just takes a lot of focus."

"Yes," Harry snapped. "Wandless magic is wonderful and I promise we'll get into it, but I'm trying to tell you all something exceedingly important and dangerous."

His friends finally fell quiet and gave him their undivided attention. Draco shifted nervously in his seat.

"Before we left for the holidays, we figured out what was hidden and why the traps were there. We know the Philosopher's Stone can make the Elixir of Life or unlimited gold, so we figured _anyone_ would want to find a way to get it, right?"

The others nodded. Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"My mum and dad have been poking around since we found out I'm a wizard, trying to find out why I was abandoned, among other thing–"

Harry paused as varying expressions of distress and confusion swept over his friends' faces.

" –Yes, I was abandoned. Anyway, they found a really disturbing pattern." He met each of their eyes. "Does it seem strange to you so many people know about the night my parents died and no one ever saw Voldemort's body?"

Quiet reigned for several minutes while Harry allowed them to think back on what they had read about that day, the years of misinformation pandered by popular opinion.

"Then I was left on a doorstep, and someone started writing books about my fabulous heroic life. I thought, you know, because of the boy-who-lived thing, I should have expected that sort of trash, but my mum and dad pointed something out to me.

"The wizarding world has laws against publishing books, fictional or otherwise, about underage persons, even public figures, without the express permission of their guardians. So, Dad looked it up, and there's a fake record of my guardians giving that same permission.

"Someone went through a lot of trouble to make people think I'm a hero, that I somehow killed Voldemort – Someone set me up as a ready-made saviour. We couldn't think of any other reason than someone's trying to use me. Mum and Dad weren't sure what for, but then we found out about the stone."

Harry stared at resolutely at his laces as his words sunk in. Draco got it first and uttered a strangled groan.

"Who would want the Philosopher's Stone _and_ have the power to break into Gringotts?" he muttered, his face bleached of any colour.

"You think…" Hermione whispered, unable, for a moment, to continue. "You think it's You-Know-Who?"

Daphne shivered.

"They never found a body…"

"It's not just that," Harry said. "My scar hurts when I'm around Quirrel, and we read about that too, over the break. Dad thinks my magic, my being in general, remembers Voldemort trying to kill me the first time. He, we, think my headaches are a warning that the man who gave me my scar is dangerously close."

Neville bent to cradle his head between his knees. Draco, clearly panicking, gingerly patted the shivering boy on the back. Hermione and Daphne clutched one another's hands so tightly their knuckles seemed bleached and knobby against the rest of their skin.

"It would make sense," Hermione finally murmured. "Quirrel travelled abroad last year. If You-Know-Who was in hiding, they could have met by accident."

"You're all missing the obvious again," Daphne hissed, her blue eyes pinning each of them to their seats in turn. "The _trap_. Dumbledore _knows_ everything we know and more. He's fought the Dark Lord more than once. There's no way a wizard like him _wouldn't_ recognize _his _magical signature."

"That's mad," Draco muttered. "Why would Dumbledore, of all people, want to risk a student coming across the Dark Lord?"

"That's why this is so dangerous," Harry whispered. "It doesn't say anywhere who my magical guardian is, but when I was left on that doorstep, there was a note to my non-wiz aunt. When my parents found me and knocked on the door, they got her to tell them about it. She said _Dumbledore_ was trying to force me on her and her husband. And in the note, it said something about 'our school.' And then, this Christmas, we found a gift from Dumbledore under our tree: Something that would allow me to sneak around out-of-bounds without getting caught. I think he's behind everything. Dumbledore _wants _me to try the trap at the very least, and confront Voldemort at the very worst."

"The books," Hermione groaned. "The books! Dumbledore's head of the Wizengamot. If he left that note with you, he may very well have appointed himself your guardian, sealed the wills, falsified your records and _approved_ those books."

"Yes," Harry simply said. "I almost didn't come back to school, but my sister's a witch and my mum and dad are pretty sure we'd have to run if I decided not to be a wizard. I don't think anyone is going to dictate our lives like that, so I figured I'd go with it for now and try to figure out what's going on. Also, if it really is Voldemort and he's not gone, I want to know for sure. He tried to kill me once, and I've read he's the type to try again just to keep his reputation if nothing else."

"Does anyone else think this is mad?" Draco nearly shouted. "You belong in Gryffindor! You're an idiot to come back to school."

"Yeah, I know," Harry snapped. "But if I don't, and it's him, and Dumbledore keeps doing nothing about it, I don't want to wake up months from now with an immortal dark lord over my bed and my family dead downstairs. Once is enough for me, thanks."

Nearly all of them shuddered at that.

"So, now you all have to make a decision," Harry continued. "I've told you everything I know about the situation. Do you still want to help me break in, just in case the stone _is_ actually there, or do you want to do the smart thing and avoid my company for the rest of the year?"

Sometimes, human beings are fearful and say or do stupid things. Sometimes, they are overly brave and make equally inane choices. In this instance, Harry fell into both categories. Having such wonderful friends, however, he was quickly disabused of his ill-conceived notions. Hermione and Daphne both smacked him and demanded he never associate them with such cowardly tendencies or disloyalty ever again, lest they feed him to the giant squid. Neville, green-faced and shaking, solemnly promised Harry would never go into danger without him. Draco, fisting his hair and glaring at them all, cursed and informed his newly minted friend that it was more Slytherin of him to stick it out so long as Harry remained among the living. He did promise, however, to switch sides if that status ever changed.

* * *

_**January 26, 2013**_

Even without a January quidditch match to look forward to, Harry thought this term was already passing faster than he would have expected. Of course, he still had practice, but only twice weekly. His fitness routine moved indoors to the changeable room on the seventh floor, and with the magically conjured mechanical treadmill of clockwork and ball bearings added to the usual tree house, he now accomplished both reading and running simultaneously, thereby eliminating some of his homework time. Those saved hours became the basis for Harry's first foray into the room with Neville and Hermione at his side as Daphne and Draco stood watch, which was fortunate, because Harry panicked when the Devil's Snare beneath the trap door wrapped one of its creeping vines around his neck. He would have been killed if not for Neville's talent for Herbology and Hermione's quick hand with her bluebell flames.

It was equally lucky Harry brought his broom with him (to get them back out of the trap door) because the next chamber's obstacle would have been quite a bit harder on the old school brooms Dumbledore so graciously provided his intruders. He easily caught the old fashioned silver key to open the door leading into the next room. It, on the other hand, presented more of a challenge.

"Are either of you any good at chess?" Harry whispered, warily watching the towering, faceless pieces.

"Weasley is. I'm complete shite at it. Great Auntie Enid wallops me all the time."

Hermione simply shook her head.

"My mum and dad don't do board games, really, just Trivial Pursuit."

Harry, who possessed average ability at the game (mostly because it bored him to tears), then attempted to fly across the chessboard. Just as he was about to clear the head of the faceless queen, his broom jerked to a stop. To his horror, he turned to find the white queen's stone fist clamped down on the tail of his broom. Hermione and Neville screamed as the piece flung him from his mount and tossed the broom after him. Harry would have been impaled by the Nimbus's speeding handle if he hadn't rolled out of the way at the last minute. As it was, the broom crashed against the wall and vibrated violently for several minutes before it stopped. They unanimously agreed enough exploring had been done for one night and quickly made their way back through the key chamber and past Fluffy (whose name they had learned from Hagrid).

From then on, Harry played chess every night in the common room, and challenged his Dad to a game over the tree house screen whenever he got the chance.

* * *

_**February 3, 2013**_

While they waited for him to improve sufficiently to risk the chamber again, the children and the Doctor and Rose hatched a plot.

"You really want to confront Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione said a little worriedly.

The two adults nodded on the screen.

"Night to E-Six," the Doctor intoned.

Harry groaned while his bishop died a very painful looking death.

"Yes," Rose affirmed, "Dumbledore can't hurt us without a lot of people finding out. We're officially a wizard and a squib, and we've faked the records on the non-wiz side and have shiny wonderful legitimate ones on the wizarding side. We're known to associate closely with Neville's gran and Daphne's mum, so, yes. It'll be fine. We just want to know what's going on and why. Doesn't hurt to ask him, and at very worst we'll know for sure he's an enemy."

Daphne and Draco winced as Harry's king very petulantly threw his crown to the board.

"He gave me my father's cloak," Harry said. "Maybe I can just sneak into his office and floo-call you."

His dad shook his head.

"Won't work. You'll need a pass code to let us through," he dismissed. "Though, maybe you're onto something with the cloak angle. He might be hoping you find something else in the castle. Maybe another clue to solving the obstacles."

Daphne took a long sip of tea and cleared her throat. The Doctor and Rose peered at her expectantly.

"Why don't you just write him an invitation to start with? Perhaps lunch in Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks will have enough witnesses you won't have to worry about that, and it won't be unusual for the headmaster to visit there, either."

Everyone felt a little stupid after that. The Doctor grinned.

"You, my boy, pick excellent companions," he declared.

Harry grinned and reset the chessboard.

In the end, however, they decided it would be a perfectly awful waste of invisibility cloak if they _didn't _explore the castle by night. Daphne and Rose thought since they had made so little progress with third floor corridor and Harry's headaches only worsened by the day, they could all use the distraction. So, late that evening, after everyone had retired to their beds and lay dreaming, Harry summoned the cloak from his trunk and disappeared beneath its fluid folds.

Hogwarts by night was as darkly mysterious as it was whimsical and grand by daylight. Harry crept through the halls slowly, careful the cloak's trailing hem and the soft click of his leather-soled shoes. He thought perhaps next time he'd look up a muffling charm, as he was having little luck willing a bubble of quiet into existence around his feet. Luckily, he somehow managed to reach the portrait of the Pink Lady (as Harry preferred to call her) without alerting anyone to his presence (despite the appearance of Peeves at one point). He let the cloak slide down to reveal his head and coughed a little loudly to wake the snoring woman.

"What? What's that?" she yawned. "To whose body does that head belong?"

Harry tried very hard not to laugh when the woman nearly fell off her tiny velvet pouf as she squinted out of her frame at him.

"Harry Potter. Do you think you could tell Neville I'm here?" he whispered.

"Who, boy?" the lady grumbled. "What sort of time is this? I should have someone wake the caretaker."

"Please don't, dear Lady. Neville Longbottom should be awake inside, if you'll just go to him."

The woman huffed and rose, grumbling, from her seat. She walked beyond the edge of the frame and a moment later the portrait swung open to reveal a very dishevelled Neville beneath the arched portal.

"Harry," he whispered as he pulled on his dressing gown. "I thought you'd changed your mind. I fell asleep."

"Harry glanced at his self-winding wrist watch and frowned. "It's only just midnight."

"Oh." The Gryffindor smiled sheepishly.

Grinning beneath the incredible cloak, the boys took off down the hall. They peaked inside disused classrooms, played a prank on Peeves and Mr Filch, both, by pretending they were the Bloody Baron, and eventually came across a secret passage hidden behind a portrait of a very flat-faced old man with a beard longer than he was tall. They wouldn't have found it at all, except they overheard a prefect speaking with it.

The corridor, though it began on the seventh floor, ended up on the first floor near the library despite a complete lack of stairs or slopes.

"Magic," Neville said as if that explained everything.

Harry wondered if he would ever get used to magic, and if he could ever learn to make a place do the many amazing things Hogwarts managed. But then, the prank they played on the crotchety caretaker backfired on them in the most spectacular fashion possible.

"PEEVES!" the old man bellowed as he ran down the corridor toward the library.

A horrible clanking and crashing echoed through the first floor and torches blazed to life up and down the corridor. Neville and Harry's faces drained of colour and they dashed into the nearest open room as thundering footsteps filled their ears.

They shut the door as quietly as they could and huddled, for one heart-pounding moment, as the prefects, filch, and the Peeves-driven suit of armour ran past the door. Harry let out a breath he barely knew he was holding. Neville laughed softly.

"We should probably stay in here until things settle down a bit," he said.

Harry slumped to the ground, allowing the cloak to pool at their feet.

"If I didn't know any better, you're becoming an adventurer in your own right," the Slytherin whispered.

The room they had entered definitely kept to wizarding standards of dimensions, four times as large and eight times as long as it should have been based on the spacing of the doors adjacent. The ceiling, too, climbed higher than basic laws of physics deemed possible, the rib vaults, lit up with reflected moon and starlight streaming through the floor-to ceiling pointed arched windows, soared overhead. The truly remarkable thing about the disused classroom, however, was its contents.

A mirror, wider than Harry was tall and large enough to barely miss the vaulted ceiling, stood in the centre of the room. Its gilt golden frame shined subtly in the moonbeams, but its surface seemed darker than it should have been. Neville walked toward it slowly.

"Have you noticed?" he whispered. "It feels…"

Harry's eyes flickered over the scrolling inscription engraved over the looking glass.

_Erised__ Stra Ehru oyt Ube Cafru oyt on Wohsi_

"Neville, I don't think-"

The Gryffindor had stopped just before the mirror, his eyes wide, his finger's stretched toward its surface.

"Do you see them?"

"See who?" Harry said a little worriedly. He could only see himself and his dressing gown-clad friend.

"It's you, and me, but both our parents are there. My mum and dad, and the Potters, and the Doctor and Rose. They're all here. They're all so proud of us. And… My mum's holding a baby. I think it's my sister!"

Neville's face took on a dreamy quality. His fingers pressed against the glass and his shoulders and face crumpled with unmistakable longing. Harry stepped forward slowly to grip his friend's shoulder.

"Neville," he said firmly. "Neville, there's no one else here. It's just you and me."

Harry squeezed a little harder and gave the Gryffindor a shake. Neville snarled and shoved Harry away without looking at him.

"Neville!" Harry whispered more urgently.

A sense of growing alarm came over him and he grabbed hold of his mate's dressing gown and tugged him hard away from the mirror. The boy stumbled and fell on his rear, but whatever spell had overtaken him seemed to have been lifted.

"What..?" Neville muttered, confusion furrowing his brow. His eyes turned glassy and tears streamed over his suddenly ruddy cheeks.

Harry braced his friend's shoulder.

"But I… I saw my mum and dad. They were okay. And your mum and dad, too, I mean the Potter ones. And The Doctor and Rose and Jenny were all there, and I had a sister."

Neville dissolved into erratic sobs and Harry did his best not to panic at the state of his friend. He just sat silently while Neville had what Harry could only describe as a nervous breakdown. Finally, after what felt like a very long time, the boy's sniffles abated, and he wiped his face with his sleeve. Harry performed a wandless drying charm, and Neville nodded at him appreciatively.

"I've never told you about my parents, have I?" he muttered bitterly. "Why Gran raised me instead of them."

"No," Harry whispered. "But my dad found out your mum was my godmother. Both of us should have been raised by your parents, if, you know…"

"That's the thing, though." Neville put his face in his hands and lay back on the cold stone floor. "Someone took that away from us. Barely two weeks after he murdered your mum and dad, some of his followers came to my house. My Gran told me they thought my parents would know something about how the Potters managed to make You-Know-Who disappear. I was just a baby, you know? My birthday's the day before yours. My parents gave me to the house elves to protect me, but sometimes, I can still hear it in my worst nightmares. My dad screaming. My mum begging them to stop. Then her, too. But worst of all, I remember this horrible laughing. Some woman's high-pitched screeching laugh."

Harry sank slowly to the floor to sit with his arms around his knees. Neville took a shuddering breath.

"My mum… Gran said she was pregnant. She and dad haven't left Saint Mungo's since," he whispered so quietly Harry barely heard him.

A part of him wished he couldn't hear at all. Compared to Neville's, his own parents had been lucky.

"They can't talk to me. Dad can't even get out of bed. But mum… I think she recognizes me. It looked so real…"

Harry exhaled slowly and patted Neville's knobbly knee.

"I'm so sorry, Neville," he whispered. "I remember, too. I used to dream about it all the time. So much green light, and my mum…"

He turned to stare again at the inscription above the glass.

"Erised Stra Ehru oyt Ube Cafru oyt on Wohsi. It's a really simple coded message. Just backward and spaced randomly without punctuation: 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'," he said. "But you know, I don't think it does any good to wish we could change our own pasts. Even with time travel, that's liable to get you killed."

Neville made a small, bitter sound in the back of his throat.

"Your mum and dad love you. Everything I've read and heard about my parents seems to say they loved me, too. Maybe what happened wasn't for the best, but they _did_ their best to make sure we'd grow up happy and healthy," he breathed. "Perhaps that has to be enough."

"Yeah," Neville finally said. "You're probably right, but it doesn't make me feel any better."

* * *

_**February 9, 2013**_

Harry's second quidditch match followed the most stressful week of his short life. After the midnight foray through the castle and their encounter with the mirror, Harry thought it wisest to cancel excursions beneath the cloak. Dumbledore, he felt sure, was somehow responsible for that artefact's morbid power.

Also, Neville had become prone to melancholy and Harry did not want to help entertain an unhealthy pastime.

The match came as a wonderful distraction from the problem of the third floor corridor. In addition to daily quidditch practices, Professor Snape called Harry to his office on Monday night to inform his student he would be refereeing the coming match. He then, with Harry's permission, tested his mental defences for several minutes and informed him he would be receiving special defensive training until further notice.

Professor Snape was a brutal master.

Though he could not find purchase in Harry's thoughts or memories, the professor assigned him several texts to improve the walls and traps protecting him.

"Make your mind a realm of agony for any who attempt to traverse it," Snape commanded. "What good would your mother's sacrifice be if you allowed yourself weakness?"

His instruction in the field of combative defence, though mentally easier than his extra homework, left him physically exhausted at the end of each session.

"You can feel the magic around you," the professor drawled. "You must cultivate this skill beyond your admittedly advanced proficiency."

Harry should have known better than to feel excited at the prospect of the extra lessons, because even with his over-developed sense for magic, he wasn't quite skilled enough to dodge stinging hexes while blindfolded. He did learn quickly, but the first lesson was horrible. Three lessons in, he managed to avoid the hexes, but failed to miss the physical obstacles Professor Snape would conjure now and then.

"Your greatest advantage against an older attacker is your agility and your ability to dodge. Your magical core isn't strong enough for more than that."

With these nightly study sessions, homework, daily practices, attempting to improve his skill at chess, and designing strategies to combat other possible obstacles, Harry felt exceedingly relieved when the morning of the match dawned frozen and bright over Hogwarts.

Hermione, Daphne, Draco and Neville walked him down to the pitch early and left him to change with a few words of gentle ribbing or kind wishes, dependent on their team loyalties.

The wishes of good luck outweighed the gentle ribbing, since Hermione was more outnumbered than usual in Neville's absence. He had elected to spend the match in the tree house, talking to the Doctor and Madam Longbottom at Harry, Daphne and Hermione's insistence.

Harry adjusted the straps of his wand holster to accommodate his quidditch armour and spun to sit on the bench while his teammates dressed around him.

"You all right, Potter?" Adrian Pucey murmured beneath the noise of Hooper and Pike shoving one another into the lockers.

Harry shrugged.

"Yeah. Just nerves."

"Not what I meant," the older boy said. "You've been off since term started."

"Frequent headaches," Harry dismissed.

Lee Jordan's call for their team saved him from further interrogation. He mounted his broom and shot out of the staging area before his name could be called. Five minutes later, Harry put an end to the match before Hufflepuff could endure further humiliation at the hands of Severus Snape and the loose morals of the majority of his teammates, despite his personal desire to extend the match for his own amusement.

"Potter?"

Harry ducked out from beneath the showerhead.

"What are you doing in here, Draco?" he grumbled as he hastily wrapped a towel about his waist.

Draco casually lounged on a tiled bench across from the line of shower cubicles, a jar of bluebell flames beside him.

"Hermione give you that?" Harry asked, drying hastily and pulling on his robes.

"Yes. I do have to commend you for your choice in associates, however much I disapprove of muggleborns' lack of propriety. She's a dab hand at nearly everything," Draco drawled. "Anyway, I'm here on Professor Snape's request."

Harry attached the last fastening of his cloak and shouldered his broom.

"He can't expect me to do extra lessons on _Saturday_," he almost pleaded.

Draco gave him one of his signature you're-stupider-than-dirt looks.

"No. He suggested you might like to race me, seeing as the match was so dreadfully dull."

Harry grinned.

"With you?"

"Who else?"

Draco punched him in the shoulder and led the way out of the changing rooms, only stopping to pull one of the Slytherin stock brooms from the cupboard.

* * *

_**February 24, 2013**_

On a snowy Sunday afternoon in the picturesque village of Hogsmeade, a handsome, exceedingly well-dressed couple strolled beneath the eaves of the cottages and shops toward the Three Broomsticks Public House. The woman, a curvaceous redheaded beauty with large, forest-green eyes and a positively tempting mouth, walked on the arm of an equally attractive gentleman of singularly thin and graceful figure.

As it was not often Hogsmeade received strangers outside holidays and school visits, so it was no wonder nearly every villager and shopkeeper noticed their presence, even ignoring their admirable appearance.

"Good afternoon," the gentleman called as he entered the tavern.

The woman behind the bar, a buxom woman of indeterminable age and amiable visage, rushed to meet them at the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Good day indeed, Sir, Madam. I'm Rosmerta, proprietress of this fine establishment. How may I help you this afternoon?"

"We'd enjoy your finest table for lunch, if you would, dear lady," the Doctor said with a winning smile. "We're expecting the headmaster for lunch. The Smiths. I believe I spoke to you via floo the other day?"

"Oh, of course, Mr Smith! Professor Dumbledore hasn't visited us in too long. Would you prefer a private room?"

Rose smiled politely and shook her head.

"No, thank you. We rather enjoy the bustle of the main room."

Rosmerta led her interesting new patrons up the main steps to the second level balcony overlooking the rest of the pub. The gentleman took the lady's cloak and pulled out her chair before seating himself at her side. Grinning with the prospect of such illustrious-looking customers, Rosmerta left the couple to fetch her best mead and the lunch spread.

"I still can't believe we didn't think to invite him ourselves," Rose whispered as she spread her serviette over her lap. "Since when are we so slow?"

"We're getting old," the Doctor sighed.

Rose gave her husband a secretive smile.

"Do you ever regret it? Leaving the Tardis, I mean?"

The man smoothed a hand through his thick, windswept hair and grinned.

"No. I only with the kids could have experienced it. They're not built, you know, or I would have made us one. They're grown. But, who knows? We've got magic, now. It's all magic is, as far as I can tell. The ability to reach into the time vortex and use that energy to manipulate things."

The door below blew open and the Doctor cut off. A very old man with twinkling blue eyes, half moon glasses, extremely crooked nose, shimmering robes of midnight hue, and spangled hat swept into the pub.

"Professor!" Rosmerta exclaimed as she rushed to take the headmaster's cloak. "The Madam and Mister Smith are already waiting for you on the balcony."

"Excellent. Most excellent. I think I can manage from here, dear Rosmerta."

A moment later, the Doctor and Rose stood to greet the man who had thus far caused them so much consternation. He twinkled at them as the Doctor shook his hand and Rose allowed a kiss to her gloved hand.

"I admit I was most surprised to receive your invitation," Dumbledore said as he took his seat. "Although, I'm more interested to know why..?"

The bottle of mead helpfully poured its amber contents in their glasses as the Doctor and Rose settled again.

"Why we asked about Harry Potter's guardianship?" Rose said lightly.

The headmaster nodded graciously and smiled, his beard twitching in amusement.

The Doctor's smile faded. Rose grinned wider.

"You see, I recently took a position in the Department of Citizen Records, and I came across Harry Potter's file. I was interested in the things I mentioned because I know them to be false."

Dumbledore took a sip of his honey wine and raised a white eyebrow.

"Why would you think that, Mr Smith? And again, why would you be interested at all? You're not, after all, the traditional wizard you pretend to be."

The Doctor's face turned grim.

"Because I'm Harry's dad."

The temperature seemed to drop by several degrees. The headmaster had stopped smiling.

"Harry Potter's guardians are Petunia and Vernon Dursley," he said coolly. "You are neither."

"No," Rose spat. "He's just the man who saved an infant from freezing to death."

That rather stopped whatever the headmaster had intended to say. His brow furrowed and his beard twitched again.

"Whatever do you mean? I placed multiple warming and protection charms on the boy when I left him in his relatives' care."

"You did a bad job of it then," the woman snarled. "Because he was close to hypothermia when we found him and bleeding!"

"That's impossible," the old man said, smiling once again. "Surely you're confused."

"Shut up," the Doctor commanded. "No, really, shut up."

The headmaster closed his mouth.

"You know I'm not a traditional wizard. Do you know _who _I am, then? No?"

Rose crossed her arms over her chest to hide her shaking hands. She dearly wanted to reach across the table and throttle the old man. The Doctor didn't give him a chance to respond, or she might have tried.

"I am the Doctor. I am the last Time Lord of Gallifrey, son of Aspasia, the Oncoming Storm, and father to Harry James Potter-Tyler. I know what you've done, old man, and I know you need my son for your readymade hero project. So here's what's going to happen."

The headmaster's expression of alarm and confusion morphed from amusement to interest throughout Mr Smith's speech. He looked up in surprise as the lady delivered the rest of the ultimatum.

"You're going to give my husband and me each positions among the Hogwarts staff. We can't stop you from carrying on with your schemes, so we want to be close at hand in case things get out of hand. We know we can't rely on you to take care of Harry," she said.

"I suppose I must consent to your demands, seeing as you will give me no other option. And I'm very sorry you feel that way, but I'm ashamed, in light of my admittedly poor care of him in the past, that I must forgive the sentiment. I fear I trusted too much in the goodness of his relatives."

"Stuff it," Rose commanded. "We also want information."

Their conversation paused as Rosmerta brought a great platter of roast beef and vegetables to their table. They allowed her to serve them before continuing between bites of delicious food.

"Why and how did Voldemort come to seek Harry that night?" the Doctor asked.

"Alas," Dumbledore sighed. "This I cannot answer until Harry is ready. It is information of the most delicate and important nature."

"And I say if you don't, I'm going to introduce you to a Silurian assassin," Rose hissed. "Or I could call my dad up and have him expose the wizarding world for the power-abusing, hateful disaster it is. You do realize we've had cameras recording wizarding activity since the early nineties?"

"Oh, but you wouldn't do that," the headmaster said with a decided pout. "However would your dear daughter see Hogwarts then?"

"Easy," the Doctor assured him. "There have been plans in place to absorb and integrate the wizarding and non-wizarding worlds under the crown and parliament for months, now. Hogwarts would remain, but your fancy titles and seats of power would be as so many footprints on the shore."

"Well. I'm far too old not to know when I'm thoroughly beaten. I would tip my hat to you, Lady, Time Lord, if I were still wearing it."

Albus Dumbledore started twinkling again and raised his glass.

"In the meantime, allow me to drink to your health."

The Doctor and rose continued staring stonily at the man they both unreservedly disliked and distrusted.

"Now, what positions were you considering among my staff?"

* * *

_24 February 2013_

_Dear Harry,_

_We are now officially contracted to begin performing as instructors for Non-Magical Cultures and History of Magic, respectively, from the first of August onward. We haven't told Jenny yet, but we have also purchased a house in Hogsmeade and connected the floo to home, so she will be joining us next year, too._

_Dumbledore gave in a little too easily, though, so be on your guard. He probably thinks it'll be easier to manipulate you if he keeps us close by. I think he recognized my name, too, but I wasn't close enough to tell for sure._

_Be good. We love you. I'm taking my OWLs and NEWTs in May. Professors Smith and Smith look forward to teaching you next year._

_Love,_

_Dad_

_P.S. If we're judging by my chess-playing ability, you're more than ready to attempt that obstacle. You can always retreat if it starts to go badly._

* * *

A/N: Expect the next chapter by next Tuesday at the latest. Hope you enjoyed it. The conflict between Harry's parents and the headmaster is just getting started. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. I love hearing what you really think.

Love,

Forensica X


	13. Houses of Wood, Houses of Glass

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: There's only one chapter left to go, now. **I will be posting the first chapter of the next year and the last chapter of this one at the same time, so make sure to check my profile to stay caught up!** It's been a crazy month. I never thought I'd be so motivated to pump out a 50K+ word story in so short a time. Thank you so much for your kind support and readership!

Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Houses of Wood, Houses of Glass

* * *

_**March 14, 2013**_

The second run through the trap door coincided with Daphne's birthday. She hadn't told any of them about the occasion, so when it came up, Daphne took advantage of her friends' mutual guilt and appointed herself Queen for a Day. She, therefore, accompanied Harry and Neville (who would not let Harry go without him) when they approached Fluffy's door late that night. Hermione and Draco remained in the corridor to watch the way beneath the invisibility cloak.

Fluffy, thanks Neville playing Harry's flute (a gift from Hagrid) fell quickly to sleep, and the Devil's Snare shied away from their already lit wands as soon as they landed. Neville remained behind to keep the dog asleep in case they needed a quick getaway. As before, Harry's Nimbus helped them make quick work of the flying key room. Daphne, to Harry's delight, flew extremely well on one of the school brooms to help him corral the correct key into a corner. They moved on quickly to the chessboard.

"I shall take the queen's spot," Daphne said. "You should be the king."

"Right," Harry said as he surveyed the board. "I can't see very well over the other pieces. Maybe…"

He approached the black king, who stood still although the queen's piece had obligingly left the board.

"Could you give me a lift?"

The King bent as if he weren't made of solid granite and offered him a hand the size of a serving platter. The boy gingerly stepped into the King's palm and clung tight to the giant piece's arm as it lifted him to its shoulder, where Harry perched with his feet braced on the arm.

"If you get me killed, I'll haunt you for an eternity," Daphne informed him.

"Don't worry," Harry said. "We'll retreat if I get you in trouble."

A white pawn marched forward two spaces and the game began. Harry played aggressively, and it wasn't long until the first white pieces lay brutally destroyed along the sidelines. The board, however, fought harder with each piece lost.

"Pawn to D-four!"

White's last castle fell with a great explosion of stone and dust and the black pawns made quick work of dragging its remains from the field. Very few white pieces remained aside from the king. The lonely queen, her face (if she had one at all) hidden beneath the flowing folds of a stone veil, stared at Harry from her place in the row behind him and to the right. The white king, cornered by Harry's knights, stoically moved into the only space left to him. The two white pawns and knight remaining shuddered. Daphne poised to strike.

"Queen to C-two!"

She moved with a purposeful stride and the white king threw down his crown.

"Excellently played."

"Thanks," Harry grunted as he shimmied down from his seat. He joined Daphne on the edge of the board, and the heavy bronze door previously barring their way swung open.

A horrible stench filled their nostrils.

"Oh no," Daphne whimpered. "Not again!"

"Crap!"

Harry lunged out of the way as an enormous club demolished the spot he had previous occupied. Daphne screamed. The sound echoed through the cavern, intolerably horrifying, and the troll spun slowly to run at her.

"Shut up, Daph! It's sensitive to sound!" Harry shouted as he tried to aim at its club. The spells, however, seemed to bounce off.

"Craaaaaap!"

The troll turned again at the yell, his grubby hands clamped over its ears.

"Kill it!" Daphne screeched. "Levitate its club like last time!"

"Spells aren't working," Harry said between his teeth as he ran through the Troll's legs to miss another swing of the club. "I don't know why!"

"Well, what are we supposed to do?"

"Run!"

"No! We'll just have to come back!"

"Oh!" Harry gasped, ducking to avoid a fist the size of a rubbish bin. "Oh, I'm thick! Totally stupid!"

He spun and stood his ground as the troll lumbered forward. He unclipped he strap holding his broom across his back and mounted it just as the beast attempted to close its fingers around him.

"Harry!" Daphne screamed.

Harry flew straight at the troll's head and pressed his palms to its bald skull. The troll stilled. Harry closed his eyes.

A troll's mind isn't full of very much, but it is capable of more conscious thought than people give them credit for. Harry thought it was comparable to a very young child or some other primate. There was rage, to be sure, but it wasn't the primary motivator for the fearsome creature. Fear ruled its mind, fuelled by the instinct to survive and fierce, fierce desire to keep on living.

"Sorry," Harry whispered. "I'm slow sometimes. Do you mind if we pass? We promise we won't yell or shoot the lights at you anymore."

"Harry?" Daphne said shakily.

"They got him in here without tearing the castle apart. Something this big, it'd take all the teachers to stun and transport it. But it'd be inconvenient to keep stunning it in teams while they set this place up," Harry explained. "I thought there might be a way to communicate with it."

"You're a legilimens, too?" Daphne hissed. "You're absolutely ridiculous. You're impossible."

Harry shrugged as he allowed his broom to drift gently toward the ground. The troll sat in place and watched them warily, but didn't try to attack them again.

"No. Dad just started teaching me really early."

"Well, I can occlude, too, but very few people manage legilimency."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I think wizards are stunted by their lack of imagination and drive. Dad didn't know whether it was possible or not. He just tried."

"So you're too ignorant to fail, is that it?" she grumbled.

"Maybe."

They walked around the troll and paused at the next door.

"Should we keep going?" Harry whispered.

"No." Daphne took his arm. "Our two hours are nearly up. We should get back and continue on another time."

"I suppose we _do_ have double potions in the morning."

* * *

_**March 15, 2013**_

The children reached their dormitories just after one in the morning, and at breakfast, only Hermione seemed her usual chipper self. She sat between Susan and Hannah and helped them with last-minute homework while eating berry-topped porridge. Neville sat with them, nibbling half-heartedly on toast.

Harry, Draco and Daphne did their best to seem unaffected, but not all were fooled. Adrian Pucey, who had taken more interest than Harry would have liked, mulishly refused to let the subject drop despite his several breeches in proper Slytherin decorum.

"I know you're not doing well," he said under his breath as he leaned toward Harry across the table. "You're my teammate, and you're Harry Potter. What do you think people will say if you fall ill under _our _tender mercies?"

Harry did not dignify that question with an answer, rather choosing to take a third helping of crisp bacon from the salver.

The potions lesson was brutal. Harry dearly wanted to rest his head on the bed of Pegasus feathers before him (a vital ingredient in weightlessness potions commonly used to prepare wizarding products for shipping) as he carefully separated the barbs from the shafts. These, he carefully shredded with his silver knife and scooped into the mortar he shared with Neville. The Gryffindor took the shafts, cut away the quills, and shaved into thin, curling strips.

"Are you attempting to sabotage Finnigan, Weasley? Or are you truly that stupid?"

The potions master towered over the table closet to the front, where Ron Weasley turned red and glared defiantly back at his instructor. The professor was in fine form today. Harry wondered how long Weasley would go before he opened his mouth and stuck his foot in it.

"You've failed to separate the barbs properly. If you added them to your potion, now, it would be Christmas again before it reached the proper consistency and density," Snape sneered and waved his wand over the boy's mortar. The badly shredded bits of feather disappeared.

"Begin again."

Ron shot out of his seat before Snape could reach his seat and slammed his fists on the table, scattering all of Seamus's lovingly shredded feather shafts.

"Why are you always picking on me?" he shouted. "People say you're brilliant, even though you're a git, but you know what? I think you're just a jumped up bully! The only reason you got your mastery is because you've never had anything better to do! How could you when every person you've ever met hates you?"

The room fell silent aside from the quiet burbling of twenty cauldrons and the animated pestles grinding feathers into fine, white dust. No one dared even to breathe as the potions master slowly turned to stare coldly at the Gryffindor.

"Detention, Mr Weasley. Tonight. Report to Mr Filch by nine or it shall be a month's worth."

No one talked after that. The generally taciturn man hovered over them like a spectre waiting to strike at the smallest sign of weakness. Harry thought Neville might have mangled his own potion, given how much he shook, but somehow, his hands remained steady enough to produce what looked like a perfectly acceptable weightlessness draught.

Everyone felt relieved to clean his or her station and file toward the door. Harry, especially, wanted to find a warm, sunny alcove somewhere in the castle and take a long nap.

"Potter."

Neville and Daphne threw him sympathetic looks as they left. Draco followed after them with a shrug and a smirk, as if to say 'Oh, well. Good luck.'

Harry turned. Snape examined him with an inscrutable expression. The door shut quietly and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end as layers of magic jumped up to cover the exit with further protection.

"Your extra lesson is cancelled for today. Given last night's activities, I'm sure you need the rest."

The boy tried a feeble grin.

"You have thirty seconds to explain why you chose to endanger yourself and your friends thusly before I assign you a month's detentions, too."

The grin faded. Harry sat down heavily in the chair before Snape's desk.

"I know Professor Dumbledore wants me to face him again. I don't know why, but I know he won't stop Voldemort from obtaining it, otherwise he would have destroyed it already and the dark wanker wouldn't be here."

The potions professor's mask of indifference disappeared as if someone had drawn the shades away from his face. A sneer of frustration remained, set against waxy white cheeks and wrinkled nose.

"I see you're cleverer than the headmaster gives you credit for. Indeed, cleverer, even, than I imagined."

"I can't take all the credit. My parents helped a lot."

"I think I should meet your mother and father."

"Dumbledore did a few weeks back. They'll be teaching here next year, so I'm sure you'll meet them sooner than you thought."

"Hmm."

Harry sighed and allowed his exhaustion to surface as he slumped in his seat. The professor slid a small black case across his desk.

"Pepper-up potions," he said at his student's raised brow. "To help with your stamina should you find yourself tired after another late-night excursion. Be wary. His agent will move again soon."

"Thank you. We've been doing our best to beat him to it, so hopefully we'll stay lucky and miss one another entirely. Do you think he knows?"

"No," Snape grunted. "It would be too risky to place detecting magicks on the corridor without alerting Dumbledore."

Harry frowned and thought a moment on the Professor's contribution to the conversation.

"Professor," he said slowly. "You said 'agent,' but I think it's more than that. When I'm around Quirrel, my head hurts a lot and my mouth tastes like blood. I think he's possessed."

Snape blanched even paler than usual and shuddered.

"And you _still _attempt this?" he finally snarled.

Harry bowed his head and clenched his hands into fists.

"I don't think I have a choice. Dumbledore's been leaving me clues and stuff. He really wants me to do this. He lied to the world about how I grew up and let them print that trash about me. He needs me to do this for some reason. I sort of hoped…"

Snape looked away from the emerald eyes that pinned him. Lily's eyes, copied into the face of his old enemy.

"Potter," he spat.

Harry leaned away from him, disappointment clear on his young face.

"Harry," the professor began again. "You must not ask me this. I am sure, voracious reader as you are, that you know the bonds a wizard may undergo to cement his allegiance. I cannot tell you why the Dark Lord hunts you, and why Dumbledore wishes you to face him"

"I understand," Harry murmured. "I just thought…"

"If _I_ understand you," Snape nearly smirked at the strange irony to think he would seek to understand a Potter at all. "I imagine your greatest fear is for your family. They, too, must be aware of it if they are choosing to gain power here rather than attempt to hide in the muggle world."

The boy nodded.

"I cannot promise your involvement will change anything. Certainly, the Dark Lord has not left the world as everyone so willingly believes. I find myself compelled to say hope, however fleeing, still exists. Your mother made very sure of that."

"Could you tell me about her?" Harry asked quietly.

Snape swallowed back a decade of bitterness and regret and grimaced across the table at his charge.

"She was the kindest, most intelligent, most compassionate person I ever had the pleasure of knowing. It is my greatest regret that I did not prove so good a friend to her when she lived. Or else, perhaps, you would never have been called 'Potter.'"

"I'm sorry I never got to know her," Harry whispered. "But you know, my dad says the people we care about are never really lost to us. He says time's just an illusion. We all exist for an infinite moment in the thing we know as history, all at once and forever. Somewhere in the Vortex, you and she are still friends, and she'll never die."

* * *

_**March 27, 2013**_

For Easter holidays, the Doctor and Rose agreed Harry should remain at the castle while he sorted the remaining challenges of the third floor corridor, received defence training from Snape, and enjoyed teas with Professor Flitwick (who Harry liked very much) and Hagrid (who he admired less but still liked). Although Draco and Daphne went home, Hermione and Neville both elected to remain in the castle, along with the Weasleys, the quidditch teams of the other three houses (who needed the extra practice in light of the impending quidditch cup semi-finals), several Ravenclaws (who took the opportunity to work ahead), and nearly all of fifth and seventh years (who were preparing to take either their Ordinary Wizarding Levels or Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests).

Aside from wanting to continue attacking the third floor corridor, however, Hermione and Neville remained for a far more important (and hopefully less dangerous) task: ensuring Harry got to have some _normal_ _fun_ before the end of term. Or at least, as normal as normal could be for children who used magic on a daily basis.

As often as they could, Hermione and Neville forced Harry to join them on walks across the grounds, further exploration of the castle itself, and joint expeditions to Hagrid's hut, where, if they were lucky, they sometimes had the opportunity to see him caring for one of the many animal denizens of the Hogwarts grounds.

Neville unfolded the most recent breakfast note they had received from their large friend.

"Hagrid says he's found an orphaned unicorn foal. He's invited us down to see it and he asks if we can bring Professor Cináed Lumsden."

"Who's Professor Lumsden?" Hermione asked, turning to look at the head table.

Susan Bones fed Hedwig a few strips of bacon and nodded to a young professor with neatly combed hair and wild sideburns that grew from hairline to jaw.

"He teaches muggle studies," Susan said. "My auntie isn't very fond of him. He replaced Professor Quirrel when he changed to defence."

"Why doesn't your aunt like him?" Harry wondered.

Aside from his unruly mutton chops, the man wore a predominantly red and blue kilt and tartan with his dark blue robes and black waistcoat. He chatted amiably to Professor Kettleburn, one of the few teachers aside from the heads of house to remain through the holiday.

Susan cracked the shell of her hard boiled egg a little violently.

"He's been known to say unkind things about muggles and muggleborns. How can someone like that accurately teach a subject about their culture?"

Harry grinned a little.

"Well, I have it on good authority he's not going to be staying for next year. So if he really is that bad, he can't do very much damage."

Neville passed Hermione the note.

"Do you want to go or not? It says to come down sometime before lunch. We could go after we finish breakfast."

"Sure," Harry said. "My sister will want a photo, anyway. She's recently gone a bit mad about magical creatures."

The three left the entrance hall just after the ten o'clock bells tolled across the grounds. The weather had improved from unbearably cold to mildly chilly. Sunshine swept bright across the lawns and brought thousands of wildflowers into bloom beneath a clear blue sky. Fang, the groundskeeper's enormous boarhound, lay on the grass in a ray of sunshine just beyond Hagrid's front step. He barked and wagged his tail at them with their approach.

"Hi, Fang," Neville said, scratching the slobbering animal behind its ear. "How's your dad?"

"Hagrid," Hermione called as she rapped on the door. "Hagrid, we're here!"

She knocked a little harder.

"Hagrid!"

The door swung open and a wilder-than-normal looking Hagrid poked his head out through the gap.

"Yes? Yes, what is it? I'm a bi' busy today." Hagrid's eyes finally cast downward. "Oh. It's you lot."

"Who else were you expecting?" Hermione laughed. "You sent us a note about a baby unicorn?"

"What?" Hagrid looked rather surprised. "Sorry. Must'a forgot to send the other 'un."

Harry frowned. Hagrid kept looking about twitchily, and despite the warmer weather, he wore a heavy leather smock and thick dragon skin gloves.

"Hagrid, are you up to anything you shouldn't be?" he asked casually. "We could help, you know. Besides, secrets are no fun unless you've got someone to share them with."

The man's beetle-black eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"Oh, go on, then. In you get."

The children filed through the narrow opening in the door and took their usual seats around Hagrid's scrubbed wooden table. The room felt unreasonably hot, and Harry immediately shed his outer robe, scarf and jumper.

"What's on?" Neville asked as Hagrid shut and bolted the door.

"I know yer lot can keep a secret, so…"

The man crouched before the fire and gestured to the large, black egg nestled in the flames.

"Hagrid, is that..?" Hermione whispered.

"Where in the name of all that's holy did you get that?" Harry complained. "Surely you can't buy one just anywhere. My dad'd have one, otherwise. Or Torchwood. Or Unit, God help us all."

Neville looked at Harry strangely. Hagrid shuffled nervously as he stoked the flames higher.

"It is odd, don't you think?" the Gryffindor said more gently. "Not that we're not happy for you. You did say you've always wanted to hatch a dragon, but…"

The big man waved off their concerns as he busied himself with tea.

"No need ter worry. I got Fluffy inna game o' cards from a Greek chappie years ago an' no trouble came ou' of it."

"You won a Cerberus _and _a _dragon_ _egg_ playing poker?" Harry asked incredulously. He sorely wanted to bang his head against the table.

"An' why not? The trick ter any crea'ure is knowin' what calms 'im down. Jus' as I tol' tha' bloke in the pub. Take Fluffy fer example."

A strange rattling, tapping sound came from the fire. Neville and Hermione exchanged looks as Harry leaned back in his chair. So much for a nice visit with the baby unicorn.

"It's not…" Hermione hissed.

Hagrid dropped his teapot and rushed to scoop the dragon egg out of the flames. His dragonhide gloves hissed and smoked a bit at the contact as he carried it to the centre of the table, where the fruits in a wickerwork basket found themselves ousted in favour of a coiled scarf. The gamekeeper gently set the egg in the woolly folds, where it rocked and shivered with growing intensity until, with a resounding _crack!_ a bit of the shell flew from the whole to crash into Hagrid's glasses on the shelf. The glasses shattered and masked the noise of the rest of the eggshell falling away. Something dark and leather flopped out of the basket to lie, shivering, on the tabletop. Its wings unfurled and the little creature stretched out its head to blink its double lids at them all.

"Ain' 'e beau'iful," Hagrid cooed. "'Ello Norbert."

"Norbert?" Hermione whispered. "Hagrid, you can't keep it! It's going to grow twelve times its size in under two months."

"Norbert's no' an 'it,' Hermione," the man frowned. "Apologise to 'im!"

Harry groaned as the little dragon coughed out a small burst of flame. Hermione and Hagrid were descending into a pointless argument over the logic in keeping a dragon in a wooden house when the reptile crawled directly up to Harry's hand. It blinked at him, its tiny face and bulging orange eyes staring as it very deliberately rubbed its nubbly head against Harry's hand.

"Oh, are you trying to be cute?" Harry grumbled. "You're going to get my friend into a lot of trouble, you know."

The dragon made a pitiful small sound of protest and did its level best to climb up Harry's sleeve. Unwilling to allow the creature to fall and potentially burn him in its surprise, the Slytherin scooped the dragon up to curl, a little sleepily, against his chest.

Conversation had died out in his short interlude with the baby reptile.

"What?"

Everyone stared at him. Even Hagrid seemed disturbed.

"What? I may not approve, but I can hardly dislike it. It _is_ a baby, after all."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "No- Harry, you're a _Parseltongue!_"

Harry blinked and shrugged.

"Oh. I didn't know that talent applied to dragons, too."

"Oh, glad you know, then," Neville laughed. "You shouldn't show that around. Most people fear it."

"Oh, to be able to c'mmunicate with 'im," Hagrid said wistfully. "It's a shame mos' people associate tha' with You-Know-Who."

Understandably, the rest of the Easter holiday became en exercise in attempting to convince Hagrid that keeping a dragon was an exceptionally bad idea, a pastime interrupted only by Harry's near constant training sessions with the little dragon as it grew to three times its size by the end of the week. An important effort, to be sure, since Hagrid's house _was_ made of wood and Hagrid himself had not been persuaded to reason, yet.

"No, that's rude," Harry reminded Norbert. "You can't just blow fire at things because it's fun."

"_But why not? I can't really stop blowing fire. It keeps me warm."_

"Fair point. What if I set up a nice little fire pit for you, and I'll try to find you somewhere more dragon-friendly to live. At least try not to singe everyone's robes and hair, okay?"

The dragon nodded. Harry set to work stoking Hagrid's fire and lay the little dragon in the belly of the cauldron hanging over it.

* * *

_**April 8, 2013**_

As school started up again, Harry, Neville, Hermione, and Draco and Daphne, once informed, all felt it extremely unlikely they would convince the groundskeeper to give up the quickly growing reptile. Deciding the only course of action would be to inform the headmaster at the earliest opportunity, the children turned their attention back to the third floor corridor and the obstacles within.

"He does have a point about Fluffy," Neville grunted as he and Harry flew through the trap door, leaving Draco behind to continue playing the flute.

"I'm just glad legends turn out to be mostly true in relation to magical things," Harry replied as they flew over the devil's snare and directly into the key room.

Draco hopped off to mount the school broom and the boys made a game of seeing who could catch the key first.

"Looks like I've got competition for try-outs next year," Harry quipped as they strolled onto the chessboard.

Draco shrugged.

"I rather prefer a chasing position, actually."

Harry barely concealed his surprise at that, but hoped the sentiment was true.

"So," he said, facing the white king. "Do we have to do this again, or are you tired of losing yet?"

The white king obstinately remained where he was, and his queen made a huge gesture.

"I swear, these pieces are as Scottish as McGonagall," he complained.

"Do you want to change it up a bit, Potter?" Draco suggested. "I'd happily play something more exciting than the king."

"Why don't be both play bishops?"

Fifteen minutes later (a record, for them, but then, Harry thought perhaps the white pieces were only giving a fraction of the effort they normally did), the boys went on into the troll's chamber, where Bob (as Harry dubbed him) sat miserably in the corner.

He grunted upon seeing Harry and banged his club in a forlorn sort of way.

"Yeah, I know, big guy. Must be dreadfully dull sitting here all day."

The troll lumbered forward and bent so Harry could scratch his head. Draco reeled away, pinching his nose.

"Keep an eye out, okay? And if a guy in a turban comes by, you just stay out of the way. Wouldn't want you getting hurt."

Bob grunted again and lay down to stare at the ceiling.

"Poor chap," Harry muttered as they went through the next door. "It's cruel and unusual, locking him up like this."

Draco shook his head and closed the door behind him. They walked a short while down the narrow corridor leading away from the troll's chamber, their lit wands held before them. Their footsteps echoed a little creepily in the dark. They must have passed some invisible threshold, however, because suddenly, they found their way forward blocked by ominous black flames. The corridor's shadows danced among light violet flickers cast by the fire blocking their way back.

"Well," Draco murmured. "So much for that."

Lanterns sprang to life above their heads, throwing the corridor into sharp relief and revealing a long, thin glass surface floating to their left. A line of bottles, as different in shape and size from one another as could be possible (fat, thin, spiralled, squat, tall, triangular, square, pill-shaped, twisty), stood in a line upon the glass. A square of stiff parchment sat at the centre of the floating tabletop, like a menu card at a buffet. Draco picked up the card and frowned.

"This is definitely Professor Snape's contribution."

Harry took the card and read the familiar black script.

_Danger lies before you while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, which ever you would find._

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

"Well, that's ridiculously easy," Harry sighed. "Professor Snape didn't even try."

"What are you talking about?" Draco cried. "There's poison on that table!"

The darker-haired boy gave his friend a longsuffering look.

"Yes, but this clearly says where the potions are."

Draco looked at the note another time and frowned at Harry doubtfully.

"Hermione's right," Harry sighed. "Wizards haven't an ounce of logic in them."

He took the smallest bottle, closer to a phial, really, pulled the tiny crystal stopper from its mouth, and swallowed its contents in one gulp. His insides immediately felt as if they had been doused with ice. He shivered.

"Harry?" Draco said in high-pitched alarm.

"It's just cold." He passed the phial to the blonde. "Put it back on the table and drink the little round one on the far right to go back and reset the trap. Come back in and make sure everything's the same before taking the little one. It should refill."

With that, Harry stepped through the black flames. It felt pleasantly like a light, cool breeze against his skin, but it burned his clothes away.

"Oh, fantastic," he grumbled.

"You alright?" Draco shouted through the wall of roaring black.

"Yes! On second thought, just go on back for now. It eats away your clothes!"

Harry blushed as his friend dissolved into laughter.

"You mean you're–"

"Yes, I'm naked!" Harry snapped. "Please go back and have Daphne call for a change of clothes for me."

"Why Daphne?"

"Because she knows Cuddie, dammit! Now go!"

Harry heard the door to the troll's chamber slam shut as he turned to examine his new surroundings. This new chamber was twice as large as even the vast room of flying keys. Narrow moats of oil, alight with flickering orange flames, lit the space and cast strange orange splashes of light against the rooms only occupant aside from Harry: a very familiar mirror.

"You again," he grumbled as he stepped before the mirror.

Something tickled at the back of Harry's throat: a flavour he couldn't quite place. Scowling, he moved to stand properly before the mirror. The magic tasted different than it did before. There was still the hint of menace, but something, a lot of somethings, overlay it. The mirror showed him a scene of a dark shade's demise, in which Harry, bloodied and filthy (and not naked, thank Merlin), clutched a blood-red stone.

"Right," the boy grumbled. "I'm guessing since you taste different, Dumbledore's done something to you and the stone's on your insides somehow. But I can't have it yet, is that it?"

Harry could swear the magic of the mirror hummed with barely concealed laughter.

"One of these days, my mum's going to get a proper go at that bearded old meddler."

* * *

_**April 21, 2013**_

The others were highly amused to hear the fire through which one passed to access the chamber securing the stone removed ones clothes. Even Neville couldn't help but snicker whenever it came up. Rose, unwilling to allow their fun continue at her son's expense, quickly dispatched the idea of his nakedness with that of another.

"I wonder if it'll burn away Quirrel's robes, too, or if he'll figure a way past it."

That left them all feeling not a little sick, and ended the discussion of the fabric-eating black flames.

"So, Harry," Rose said as she sat with Jenny before the screen. "I hear you won your quidditch semi-final match yesterday."

"He was incredible," Draco grinned. "The Gryffs hardly stood a chance. I mean, Wood's a fair keeper and the Weasley twins are probably better suited for Slytherin than our own beaters, but their chasers are only a little better than average and their seeker…"

Harry winced. He didn't like to say unkind things about his classmates, but Cormack McLaggen was the most obnoxious boy he had ever met. Neville made a face.

"He tried to tell me how to hold my wand the other day when I was doing some spell practice in the common room. He tried to correct _Hermione_. He thinks he's the best at everything."

"Right," Rose laughed. "I getcha. I guess he spends most of the game watching other people rather than focusing on his job?"

"Yeah, mum," Harry affirmed. "If it weren't for the twins, it would have been too easy."

"I don't know about those two," Hermione grumbled. "They're far too interested in causing trouble for my tastes."

The other stared at her and burst into laughter. Rose smiled, larger than life on the screen.

"What?" the Hufflepuff grumbled. "I mean it."

"I think they're just surprised is all," Rose said gently. "I mean, you've probably broken nearly all the school rules there are this year."

"Only about half of them," Hermione sniffed. "I've obeyed all the ones about respecting professors and not cheating and things like that."

"We're planning to foil the plans of a contracted professor," Daphne pointed out.

The bushy-haired girl stuck out her tongue.

"He's working for You-Know-Who so it doesn't count."

"Never mind all that," Rose said, effectively ending the conversation before it could turn into a fight. "What are you going to do about Norbert?"

Neville grinned suddenly.

"Weasleys."

"Poor, freckled, penchant for mischief – What about them?" Draco drawled.

"Charlie Weasley, the twins' older brother, works on a Dragon reserve!"

"I think we should seek the pranksters out, then," Harry said as he checked his watch. "We've got ages till curfew, so no time's better than now."

The twins were nowhere to be found. They searched the entire castle (what parts of it they were allowed) and the grounds, but none of them could locate the elusive redheads. They regrouped in the great hall for lunch feeling very disappointed and not a little confused.

"Where else could they be?" Daphne grumbled. She disapproved of excessive exercise almost as much as Harry enjoyed it.

"Don't know. Hogwarts has too many hidden bits to go checking them all, so I've got a new idea. Follow me."

He rose with the remainder of his sandwich and led the way from the great hall to the reception room adjacent. There, he closed the door and called "Cuddie!"

The little elf popped into existence and dropped into a low curtsey.

"Young Master Potter calls for Cuddie?" she said in her high-pitched squeak of a voice.

"Yes," Harry grinned. "I was wondering if you could help me find a couple of my friends. We're trying to help Hagrid with a bit of a problem and we need their help. Do you think you could fetch them for me? You've always been so wonderful in the past."

Cuddie beamed and blushed a little.

"So long as the boys are not in a bathroom, Young Master, of course Cuddie is happy to help. Who are they?"

"Fred and George Weasley."

A rather wicked grin spread over the elf's face.

"Cuddie would be very glad to help Young Master fetch the naughty Wheezies."

_Pop!_

The elf disappeared and Harry began counting in his head as his friends grinned back at him. This should be entertaining. Only Neville seemed a little hesitant.

"They might try to get you back for interrupting them, you know," he warned.

Harry waved away the concern.

"They're not malicious. Just bored to death. I completely get it and welcome the challenge, should it arise."

Another _pop!_ of elven apparition and Cuddie reappeared with Fred and George in hand. She held them by their ears and would not budge for any sound of protest from either boy.

"Call her off!"

"Please!"

"Thank you very much, Cuddie," Hermione said.

The little elf curtsied again and disappeared once more.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," Harry said. "Thanks for joining us."

The twins glared down at him as they rubbed their respective auditory protrusions.

"Look who it is, George."

"Ickle firstie Harrikins–"

"Must have got conked in the head yesterday–"

"Or else he hasn't paid attention to our reputation–"

"Because why else would he kidnap us in the middle of very important undertakings?" they finished together.

"Yes, you're very impressive," Daphne quipped. "But we need you for something."

"It's dangerous," Neville added. "And illegal."

"And possibly life-threatening, depending on how big it gets by the time you lend your aid," Draco said nonchalantly.

The twins stood straight and shared a long look before sitting upon a wooden bench and crossing their legs in tandem

"Sounds interesting," said Fred.

"Count us in," agreed George.

A floo call to Charlie Weasley, a very candid talk with Hagrid (while Harry translated Norbert's needs to the tearful groundskeeper), an extremely large distraction (involving nearly all the puddings at that night's supper), and several hours later, Norbert the baby Norwegian Ridgeback climbed clumsily into the green flames of the Honeydukes cellar floo to join its kin in the Hebrides.

"Why are our lives so damn ridiculous?" Draco griped as they snuck back into the dungeons beneath the invisibility cloak.

They found the common room quickly and tumbled into the plush embrace of the abandoned furniture within. Outside, shafts of light already threatened to break through the surface of the Black Lake to drench the room with pale green luminescence.

"It's Monday, isn't it?" Daphne groaned as she curled into her chair.

"Yes," Harry said, as if the word were a lament.

"Let's skive off everything after Potions, agreed?"

Both Daphne and Harry nodded to Draco's suggestion and leaned into their respective seats in an attempt to nap at least a little before the breakfast bell.

* * *

A/N: WOAH can't believe I made that mistake with Bill and Charlie. Thanks everyone who pointed that out. I'm often half asleep as I write these, and sometimes my fingers get ahead of my brain. The change is reflected above. I'm so lucky to have such attentive readers.

Again, one or two more chapters to go. Place me on Author Alert or check my profile within the next week to stay caught-up as I post the first chapter for year two. Thank you so much for your continued support, for taking the time to read and review, and for being wonderful in general. Next update by next Tuesday.

Love,

Forensica X.


	14. The Trap

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this last chapter of year one, and do let me know what you think. _**Check my profile to see the sequel and Harry's second year, **_**All Hail the Time Lord's Son**_**. Thank you so much for your follows, faves and reviews. **_I've never written a story of this magnitude in so short a time, so please do continue to leave me messages if you catch any errors. I hope you've enjoyed this first instalment of my alternate imaginings to JK's universe and the metacrisis Doctor.

* * *

The Trap

* * *

_**May 22, 2013**_

_20 May 2013_

_Dear Harry,_

_Congratulations on winning the quidditch cup! Mummy says your competition wasn't very good, though. I miss playing footie with you. Your teammates from your club miss you, too. They came by around the time for registration to ask if you're still in love with your boarding school. Mum told them you were and that you're obliged to your school team, but that you might like to do a local league club over the summer._

_I have some wonderful news! Mum and Dad bought a house in a magical village called Hogsmeade and we're going to be moving there in July! They took me there to see it and to pick out my room. I have my own tower that's bigger on the inside. I'm going to make everyone use a password to come in._

_I will still have to go to school at Seaton House, though. I wish I could go to a magical primary school, because I hate that I have to keep so many secrets. _

_Also, you could teach me things if I went to a magical primary school. Mum and Dad say they're going to be teaching lessons at Hogwarts. Are they telling the truth or is it more undercover stuff? _

_I can't wait for you to come home. Good luck on your finals. Mummy says they're going to start up soon. I love you. Please send me more photos of Hagrid's animals. Does he teach any classes? I think I'd like to take them when it's my turn to come to Hogwarts. But, I suppose you'll be a seventh year by then._

_Love,_

_Jenny_

Harry folded the letter and put it away. A stack of books lay before him, along with a colour-coded revising schedule courtesy Hermione. His notes, carefully organized for subject, term, and topic, were wrinkled and dog-eared from his several rounds of revision. He felt antsy. Exams were fast approaching and Quirrel still hadn't had a go at the trap door, according to the ever-faithful Cuddie and her underlings.

Neville and Draco sat across from him, benefitting mightily from his fastidious study habits, but something had to change or he was fairly certain he'd start throwing spells around just to break the tedium. Besides, he'd already memorised everything he needed to and knew all that he should.

"That's it," he said, throwing down his quill. "I'm done! Who wants to join me for a fly around the grounds?"

"I'll give it a miss," Neville said. "I'm not really clear on this last topic for Transfiguration, anyway."

"I'll come," Daphne called down the table. "I'm going mad."

"And that's my cue to give up for the day," Draco agreed. "Let's go. Zabini, Davis? You game?"

The word spread across the great hall and soon, nearly all the tables stood abandoned as most of second through fourth year and all of first year fled the stuffy hall for the inviting warmth of the grounds.

Hermione, Hannah and Susan began a relay around the castle's towers against Daphne, Harry and Draco. Blaise, Tracey and Neville picnicked below while their friends zoomed overhead.

Harry's death defying stunts of aerodynamic agility left him feeling less restless, but no less anxious about Quirrel's hesitance in acting. Questions raced through his mind, tormenting him with their elusiveness. It was too much to bear.

Why did Voldemort want him so badly?

Who else knew aside from Snape and Dumbledore?

Why did Dumbledore want him to be the hero?

Why expect a not-yet-teenager to perform such dangerous tasks as confronting a possible Quirrelmort?

Above all else, he worried for his family. It was one thing to know his mum and dad participated in dangerous activities for the protection of Earth and for the betterment of Human-Alien relations. It was entirely another thing to be the cause of that danger. He could not help thinking, for example, that his mother, father and sister would have been spared quite a lot of stress and danger had Rose and the Doctor _not_ found him. Or, better yet, if Voldemort hadn't killed his birth parents.

Needless to say, Harry felt he was working himself into a full-on panic attack (what with those very difficult problems layered on top of his homework, revising, and continued defence lessons from Snape).

"Oh crap."

Harry pulled to a stop, allowing his friends to race past him. His broom quavered in mid-air, a reflection of his sudden spike in anxiety and adrenalin.

"Oh, I'm so thick!" he groaned.

The Nimbus rocketed toward the ground and slowed just enough for Harry to hop off without breaking something as he ran toward Neville, Blaise and Tracy. They stared at him as he ran forward the last couple steps to land in a heap on their blanket. Neville looked positively alarmed.

"I just had a horrible thought," Harry said a little breathlessly. "What if they think what they do because someone told them to? What if…"

Harry looked around and sent Blaise and Tracy a pointed look. Tracy gave him a wry grin and tactfully pulled Blaise to his feet.

"Come along, Mr Zabini. I think we should go replenish our pitcher of pumpkin juice."

"But we can summon the elves out here," Blaise grumbled.

"I prefer to walk," Tracy assured him.

Harry took their brief exchange as an opportunity to catch his breath, at least until they had wandered out of earshot. He then flopped gratefully onto the blanket.

"What is it, Harry?" Neville whispered.

"Are seers real?"

The Gryffindor boy blinked at the non sequitur.

"What?"

"Seers. Prophesy-makers. Are they real?"

"Oh. _Oh_," Neville groaned. "Yeah. They are. There's a whole department in the Ministry that handles stuff like that. Real Prophesies are stored there so their subjects can listen to them."

Harry closed his eyes and felt horrible understanding slowly creep into the far reaches of his mind as it washed away the stress of the unknown. It made sense, now, mostly. Dumbledore's strange over-involvement in his life still baffled him, but something in Harry's head seemed to whisper _that_ was just a problem specific to the headmaster.

"It's like a cheap paperback novel," Harry commented. "But Dad says the universe just has an odd way of operating like that."

"I've no idea what you're talking about, but I think you should ask your dad to check into the Department of Mysteries before he quits for the summer."

"Agreed."

* * *

_**June 7, 2013**_

Harry left his Potions final feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. His forgetfulness had been perfect. Professor Snape silently bottled several phials worth for Madam Pomfrey's store, which in itself was as good as him pronouncing Harry first in class. The Slytherin's Charms exam the day before had left him feeling similarly pleased, having made his pineapple dance a perfect imitation of a Ginger Rogers routine he once saw on the telly. He performed admirably in Transfiguration, though Daphne managed to make her mouse-turned-snuffbox far more decorative than his own. None of his friends did as poorly as Crabbe and Goyle, however, whose boxes still had whiskers and tails when they ran out of time.

Their astronomy exam felt laughably easy – a simple affair of mapping the night's sky and labelling the heavenly bodies – and herbology seemed positively relaxing after their especially long and tedious written exam for history of magic.

Contrarily, his exam for defence against the dark arts went horribly. It wasn't that Harry didn't know the material, but in the presence of his personal headache-inducing demon, he found it nearly impossible to concentrate long enough to do anything with it. Most of his energy went to reinforcing the rather formidable defences around his mind, and the small fraction left over barely managed to fill in his essay questions before the bell rang. He could only feel glad there wasn't a practical portion, or he might have done even worse. As it was, Harry knew his score would be exceedingly low compared to his others.

But now, it was over, and Harry happily allowed Neville to escort him to the hospital wing for a well-deserved dreamless sleep potion and a long, long nap.

Or, so he hoped.

* * *

_**Very Early June 8, 2013**_

Ron Weasley woke from the same nightmare that had haunted him for the last several weeks, ever since his ill-gotten detention from the greasy-haired, long-nosed, over-biased, anger-inducing Professor Snape.

Sweat clung to his forehead and made his fringe stick uncomfortably to his cold skin. Ron's pyjama shirt practically dripped with perspiration. His hands shook. A shiver rolled down his spine.

He bent over the side table and hastily lit the candle there with the tip of his wand, unwilling to sit in the darkness with the spectre shifting just beyond the fringes of his imagination. Its shrouded face shone with silvery unicorn blood and its clawed hands reached for him even as the light of Hagrid's lantern shone behind him in the dark.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked sleepily in the bed beside his own.

Ron grunted something unintelligible as the other boy's curtains opened. Only then did he notice their guest.

"Gah!" Ron screamed.

The pointy-eared creature crossed its arms and glared up at the red-haired boy.

"You will wake your friends, young Gryffindor," the house elf hissed. "Cuddie needs Master Neville, sir!" she said, turning to the bleary-eyed blonde.

"Whaswrong?" Neville yawned. "What do you need?"

Cuddie hopped up onto the bed and tipped a potion into Neville's mouth. Steam immediately spewed from the boy's ears as he straightened; his eyes bulged momentarily with the potion's effects.

"Master Harry is in danger! Cuddie went to wake him because Cuddie's helpers saw the bad man enter the corridor, but he was not in the hospital wing or in his bed! Cuddie fears he has gone on his own! Please hurry! Cuddie has already woken Miss Greengrass, Miss Grangey and Master Malfoy!"

The little elf rang her hands as Neville jumped from the bed and slid into his shoes. He didn't bother changing out of his teddy bear pyjamas and only paused to take up his wand.

Ron watched all this in bemusement and mounting frustration.

"What are you doing? You're going to lose us points just to go hang out with that traitor Potter?" he hissed.

Neville pushed past him.

"Sorry Ron, I haven't got time. Go back to bed."

"No!" Ron shouted as he grabbed a fistful of Neville's collar. "You tell me what you're on about, now, or I'm fetching Percy!"

There was a loud _crack!_ and Ron found himself thrown back to his bed and tangled in his covers. The little house elf stood over him with a glare on her pointed face.

"No! Wheezey will stay and sleep or Cuddie shall make him! Master Longbottoms is needed!"

Neville didn't wait for Cuddie as he ran down the dormitory stairs to meet Hermione in the common room. They shared one look and dashed through the portrait hole to run, flat-out, to the third floor corridor. It was a wonder no one stopped them on their way, but then, Cuddie may have thought of that before she fetched them. By the time they reached Daphne and Draco, both were out of breath and panting and the Slytherins were in no better shape.

"I've got Harry's flute," Daphne said. "Are you ready?"

Neville nodded rather than trying to speak around his gasps. Hermione managed a squeak.

Draco pointed his wand at the lock.

"_Alohomora!" _

Daphne had already raised the flute to her lips when they entered, but there was no need. The beast inside lay trussed and bound in the corner, whining pitifully to itself. All three noses sniffed eagerly at them as the children entered, but its eyes, usually mad with the desire to defend its post, stared forlornly at them while they approached the trapdoor.

"Oh, it looks sort of sweet when it's not snapping at us," Hermione murmured, still a little breathless after their panicked run.

"Well, we've not got the time to waste and we need to help Harry," Neville grunted. "Besides, he'd only get in the way on the way back up."

Draco huffed as he lifted the heavy trap door.

"We don't have Harry's broom," Daphne said regretfully.

"We'll just have to manage without. It's good Draco's such a good flier," Hermione said.

"Let's not waste any more time," the Slytherin boy grumbled. "Let's go."

Just as in their practice runs, the devil's snare gave them little trouble and the key room quickly fell to Draco's skill. The chessboard presented a new challenge.

"We've never tried to take so many people across," Hermione grumbled.

"Four. We usually do two or three," Neville said. "We'll manage."

And they did, though there were a few close calls without Harry directing the pieces. With the four of them thinking together, however, they still finished the game within fifteen minutes. The white pieces bowed out of the way and the children rushed forward into Bob's chamber.

A stench more terrible than usual met their noses and Daphne nearly wretched.

"Oh no," Hermione sobbed through her sleeve.

Neville and Draco shifted closer to the girls as they took in the scene.

Bob the troll lay dead on either side of the next door. His top half faced them, his eyes staring dully at them all, his mouth curled in a snarl of silent agony. His lower half lay twisted nearby. Dark grey blood pooled around the chamber, flecked with bits of flesh no one dared try to identify. The girls were quietly crying. Neville tried very hard not to be sick.

"He must have tried to defend it, anyway," Draco whispered.

"No," Neville grunted. He'd spotted the footprints and smeared marks through the muck. "He tried to save Harry. See? I think he's been dragged…"

"We'd better get going, then," Daphne whispered shakily. "But before we go, someone should go back and get Professor Snape."

"And Dumbledore," Hermione said.

"I don't think he's here," Draco said a little helplessly. "The old fool probably went to the Wizengamot meeting."

"We don't have time!" Neville hissed. "Hermione, with me. Draco and Daphne, you go back. If Harry's right and it is You-Know-Who, you two'll have more to lose than we do. Go!"

The two Slytherins looked at the boy for a long moment. Neville nodded once and they turned to depart at a run. Hermione took the Gryffindor's hand and they stepped through the threshold together.

"What's our plan?" Neville asked as the flames sprung up before and behind them.

"We empty out one of the wine bottles, pour out the flame-freezing potion, and wait for the phial to refill. Then we go through the black fire together."

Neville nodded and Hermione double-checked the riddle and the arrangement before pouring the tiniest phial. As they discovered in an earlier trial, as soon as the little phial sat once more on the table, it refilled with the same potion. Neville held his bottle aloft. Hermione toasted him. They swallowed their potions in one go and, shoulder-to-shoulder with wands in hand, stepped through the black flames.

* * *

Harry woke from a horrible dream. The flames surrounding his head in sleep seemed to follow him into wakefulness; pain, hot and insistent, burned across his brow. Gasping, the boy fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses until the tips of his fingers encountered the familiar plastic frames.

Madam Pomfrey had left only a few candles burning through the hospital wing, and so the chamber swam with shadows. The matron herself stood nearby, statue still, as if watching over him in his sleep.

"Matron," Harry rasped. "May I have another dreamless sleep? I'm still getting nightmares."

"Indeed?"

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end at the sound of that voice, absent of its usual stutter. His head pounded ever more ferociously as the boy scrambled to sit up. His fingers groped beneath his pillow.

"You've no need of your wand, Potter," Quirrel hissed. "You will come with me, or you will face the same fate of the dear matron. She was most unwilling to allow me entry, you see."

"You didn't need to hurt her," Harry said more bravely than he felt as he slid out of bed and stepped into his shoes.

"Do keep that in mind," the turbaned professor sneered. "I do not _need_ to do anything. I do only as I please."

With two wands pointed at his back, Harry began the all too familiar trek to the third floor corridor. Quirrel made quick work of Fluffy. Harry winced as Quirrel cruelly bound and trussed the three-headed dog with thick black cords that cut into its protesting flesh. For the trapdoor, the professor bound Harry's arms together behind his back with the same painful bands before pushing him in, face first. It was all he could do not to scream as he fell through the open air to land hard on the devil's snare below. The professor followed far more gracefully and proceeded to burn away the wriggling vines with a nonchalant manner.

"Did you think," he snarled as he pulled Harry from the floor. "That my master would not sense your magic throughout this blasted gauntlet? That He would not recognize the very thing that once undid Him?"

They had reached the key chamber. Quirrel stopped his rant to weave a complex summoning spell that stank of bleach to Harry's sensitive nose. The key flew to his hand.

"The headmaster thought he could trap us here, but we were cautious. We took our time and undid the detections he placed though this place. Now…"

He pushed Harry forward to stumble onto the chessboard. The pieces shuddered and moved to stand aside.

"Now, they are all His. Each defence, so carefully laid to slow Him down now bows in His presence. Even the troll knows better than to stand in His way!"

But he was wrong, Harry knew. The other defences may have been re-rigged to bend under Quirrel's will, but Bob, sweet old beast, had never felt loyalty for the turbaned man who locked him in his chamber. Quirrel opened the door to Bob's domain and pushed Harry through. The troll's reaction was immediate.

"GRAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRRY!"

The beast, previously seated quite docilely in the corner of the vast room, lumbered forward with his club raised as soon as he spotted Harry stumble to his knees. Quirrel snarled and jumped away as the spot he previously occupied fell to the troll's club. Bob wasn't done, though. Enraged, he charged, the club swinging again.

"Stand aside, foul idiot!" the professor shrieked. "You're my beast and you shall obey!"

"Get away, Bob!" Harry yelled. "Run!"

It was too late. Quirrel's wand whipped this way and that in his hand, and where once a great mountain troll stood moments before, Harry could only discern a cloud of dark gray mist. A pungent odour overtook his senses. It was all he could do not to be sick. His feet felt numb as Quirrel dragged him forward again. He could only think how very wrong it all was. This wasn't what Harry had planned. Where had Cuddie been? She should have fetched him if Quirrel was moving. He should have been able to beat the stuttering idiot there, and then Bob wouldn't have died. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be hurt, maybe dying herself, in her office.

The flames brushed softly over Harry's skin after Quirrel forced the potion down his throat, and then he lay sprawled, again, before the Mirror of Erised.

"Why am I dressed?" he wondered nonsensically after several moments of the professor staring into the glass. "The flames-"

"Weren't you paying attention, Potter? I've altered the protections here to my suiting. This damned thing… I see myself presenting the stone to my master. He is rewarding me beyond anything I could ever desire, and yet, I cannot find how to retrieve the stone itself. My master felt your magic here and thought perhaps your presence would unlock the secret…"

Harry didn't listen. Everything was going so very wrong. He couldn't get the stone himself, he was bound – He couldn't even call Cuddie because she'd surely be killed. If the professor was telling the truth, Dumbledore's monitors on the place no longer existed.

He felt wholly unsuited for such an impossible situation. He needed to be more. He needed to be better. He needed to be a Time Lord.

Harry Potter-Tyler needed a miracle.

"Oi! Smelly!"

Harry turned, his heart both soaring and sinking at the sound of that voice. Neville and Hermione stood framed in the black flame archway, their wands drawn and levelled at Quirrel's back. The man did not react. Harry slowly began inching toward his friends as they walked closer. Neville's slightly green face remained focused on their mutual enemy, but he did not move from his muttering before the mirror. Harry's heart beat a desperate tattoo against his ribs. They needed a plan, and fast.

"Do you remember what you were telling us about concussion spells?" Hermione whispered as she and Neville pulled him to his feet.

But Harry had never taught them about concussion spells.

"I could kiss you," Harry breathed as his memory caught on to Hermione's idea.

He glanced back at Quirrel, still intent on his task.

"On three," he whispered as Neville and Hermione lowered their wands. He caught their eyes.

Neville seemed grim and determined and Hermione, terrified but committed.

"One," she breathed.

"Two," Neville grunted.

"Three!"

Harry forced every other thought from his mind and exhaled sharply as his nose and mouth filled with the flavour of his friends' magic and his own aching desire to live.

Quirrel shouted in surprise and fury as his body flew hard against the glass mirror. It shattered into a million pieces beneath his weight and the children's will. The fire behind them blinked out and before the man could rise again, Harry summoned his wand to him and ran for the archway after his friends. With the man's concentration broken, the bonds around Harry's arms loosened enough for him to work his way free just in time to cover his head as chunks of rock rained down on them.

Somehow, he, Neville and Hermione managed to dodge the debris and run, gasping, into Bob's chamber.

"Run!" Harry yelled.

"POTTER!"

The scream was his only warning. He flew, hard, against the rough-hewn wall. Neville shouted and Hermione shrieked as they joined him in a heap at the wall's base. Quirrel towered over them, horrifying in his twisted anger. His turban sat askew, and the horrible stink that followed him filled their nostrils.

"YOU DARE! YOU DARE DEFY ME! NO BETTER THAN YOUR TRAITOROUS FATHER AND MUDBLOOD MOTHER!"

Harry gaped. Hermione whimpered.

"Where's that voice coming from?" she hissed.

"Behold what you've done to my master! What you've reduced Him to!" Quirrel screamed as he tore the turban from his head.

He turned away from them to reveal the most horrible sight Harry had ever beheld. Hermione screamed. Neville made a strange choking sound. Harry felt very sick. His head pounded relentlessly. He was beginning to feel dizzy.

A horrible, snakelike face protruded from the back of Quirrel's bald pate. Red eyes glared at them through fleshy, lidless slits. There was no nose, rather two narrow slanted nostrils over a horrible, sneering mouth.

"See what I have become?" the face spoke. "See what your mudblood mother did to me? All for the sake of you, cowering now at a mere shadow of my true power. You will pay, boy, for your insolence. For stealing my victory today."

The face twisted into a cruel smile. Harry clenched Neville and Hermione's arms.

"Run, as soon as I say."

"Not without you," Neville grumbled.

"We do it again. We go together," Hermione agreed.

"KILL THEM ALL!" the face shrieked.

Quirrel spun at them, wand raised, and Harry sprang into action. He ran at the man in a full-on tackle and buried his head in Quirrel's gut. He heard an _oof!_ and a small cry as he dug his fingers into Quirrel's radius and twisted in an attempt to disarm him. A spell, hot and faintly bituminous in smell barely missed his ear. The wand clattered to the ground. Hermione crowed in triumph and Harry grinned as the unmistakable sound of breaking wood filled his ears.

"Now!" Harry shouted.

Again, the invisible concussive force of their combined will and magic threw Quirrel away from them to sprawl in a robed heap across the room, splattered with the remains of their fallen troll ally.

"FOOL!" Voldemort screamed. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM WITH YOUR BARE HANDS! DO IT! KILL THEM NOW!"

"Stun him!" Harry shouted. "Just concentrate really hard and think of him knocked out! Wish for it really hard!"

But Hermione and Neville were exhausted. They could hardly stand, and they were so scared. And Harry was, too. Even with all his practice, he hadn't used so much wandless magic all year, and he hadn't slept more than a few hours a night for the last month.

Quirrel was on his feet again. One of his arms rest at an odd angle in relation to the rest of his body, but he shuffled forward anyway, his crazed eyes focused on Harry.

The children tried what defensive magicks they knew – tripping jinxes, body binds, _incendio_ spells – but the more powerful wizard batted them away like so many gnats. Neville charged him and received a brutal blow across the face. Harry shoved Hermione behind him and roared his desperate outrage as he ran forward. If all else failed, after all, his mother had once told him to bite and go for the eyes.

As Quirrel attempted to wrap his one good hand around his neck, Harry half climbed him to bury bony knuckles in the man's eyes. To his surprise, Quirrel screamed and pulled away and Harry watched in amazement as the professor's flesh blistered and peeled away in black flakes, as if he'd been burned. He stared at his hands. They felt hot and burned, but nowhere near so bad as he wouldn't try that again. Quirrel had begun running at Hermione under Voldemort's shrill urging.

Without a further thought to the intelligence of this course of action, Harry jumped on Quirrel's back and pressed his hands to Voldemort's livid face. It foamed at the mouth and gnashed its teeth, but the skin still burned and blistered until it crumbled like ash beneath his hands. Harry bared his teeth against the pain shooting through him from his hands and forehead. It felt as if his skull would split any moment, but still he hung on.

"If you want to kill me so badly, just go ahead and try!" he shouted, clinging harder as Quirrel's body thrashed in an attempt to throw him off. "Try all you like, because I'm not going to let you hurt anyone else so long as I can help it!"

Finally, blessedly, the moving stopped. Harry blinked as he felt the body beneath him collapse and disintegrate to leave nothing but a dirtied robe behind. He heard a strange buzzing in his ears. His face felt wet and his mouth tasted like copper. Before he could even turn to check for his friends, however, the black specks swimming on the fields of his vision expanded and he fell involuntarily beneath the heavy weight of unconsciousness.

* * *

_**June 14, 2013**_

It began with odd, half-formed murmurs and blurs of coloured light. A light, warm brush against his arm or forehead alerted him to the presence of others, but his head felt so stuffed with cotton wool he couldn't identify the owner of the familiar touch. These brief moments of soft confusion fell between long stretches of darkness, until, finally, miraculously, Harry opened his eyes. He found his glasses on the bedside table and sat up a little shakily to peer around him in confusion.

Bright sunlight streamed through the narrow, pointed arch windows spaced near the vaulted ceiling. A witch in dark robes and a crisp white apron went around the room, stripping beds with a wave of her wand and sending bedding into a basket at the centre of the floor. Several chairs sat near him, several overflowing with sweets, gifts, cards and flowers. Then the reality of his surroundings hit him.

"MADAM POMFREY!" he yelled.

The poor woman jumped a foot in the air and whirled to glare at him.

"MR POTTER! YOU LAY DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

But Harry didn't listen. He threw off his covers and ran to the woman to throw his arms around her waist.

"You're alright!" he gasped, intensely happy. "I was so worried… What about Hermione and Neville? And Daphne and Draco, too?"

The flustered matron patted Harry on the back affectionately and pushed him away gently.

"I'm _quite _alright, as are your friends. I'm not sure what that villain told you, but I was safely asleep in my rooms until Miss Greengrass and Mr Malfoy came to wake me for your treatment. I'm just ashamed he managed to come in here and take you under my watch."

"It was Voldemort–"

The woman winced.

"I doubt you could have done anything to stop him. I'm glad you didn't. I would have hated for something to happen to you."

"Indeed," a playful voice said. "What Hogwarts could there be without our beloved Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry turned as Professor Dumbledore entered the hospital wing with the two people Harry least expected to see at his side.

"MUM!"

Rose ran forward and enveloped Harry in a too-familiar hug. She sank to her knees with her arms still around Harry's slim shoulders and squeezed him as tightly as she dared.

"You're grounded," she sobbed into his hair. "Forever. You're never scaring me like that again."

Harry just let his mother hold him as he let go of all the fear and stress of the past several months. He felt very glad the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey suddenly seemed so interested in stripping the beds aside from his own.

"Just how long was I out?" he finally asked once his mother had stopped crying.

"Almost a week," the Doctor said in a slightly choked voice. "We've been here since Saturday."

"What about Jenny?"

"With Jackie and Pete."

Harry smiled up at his dad a little shyly and the Doctor loped forward to pull both wife and son into a tight embrace.

"And your mum's right. Never scare us like that again. Just what happened?"

"You know what they say about our best-laid plans," Harry mumbled. "He sensed I'd tried... You know. And I guess he couldn't do it on his own, so he came and got me."

"Much to his detriment," the Headmaster beamed, rejoining them. "He thought to use you to his own devices, and, alas, you prevented him most completely."

Harry's head bowed.

"I think I killed Professor Quirrel," he whispered.

The Doctor knelt and gathered his son into a hug.

"No, Harry, if anyone's responsible for his death, the dear headmaster is," he said a little more loudly.

Both parents glared at the old man, who had the decency to look abashed.

"I admit I should have been more cautious than to leave while the stone still remained, but, fortunately for us all, Mr Weasley had the presence of mind to call on Minerva, who quickly dispatched her patronus to alert me to the danger."

"You know exactly what I mean, Albus," the Doctor growled. "We've spoken on this before. We know you need our son for something, and we know we can only do so much to stop you, but also know this: I've warned you once and this is your _last_ warning. I have destroyed races and planets far beyond your greatest imagination. Vast armies run at the mention of my name."

The man, eyes blazing beneath furrowed brow, held Dumbledore's gaze for several moments as his thinly veiled threat sunk in. The headmaster no longer twinkled. Finally, the old man nodded.

"Harry's already committed to combating your Dark Lord Voldemort because that's just the sort of person he is, but you better believe it's going to be on his terms. You're too smart to have allowed Quirrelmort to dismantle your defences so easily without your knowing. You _ever_ withhold that sort of information from him, you ever abandon my kid in a dangerous situation again, and nothing will save you from the reckoning we deliver. Your offices, your commission, your power, will crumble at your feet. And when wizards ask you why they have to answer to the responsibilities of their fortunate birth, you can tell them: 'Because I am a coward too weak to fight my own battles. I relied on a child to do it because it was convenient.'"

The headmaster shrivelled beneath the family's combined stares. His mournful eyes rested most often on Harry's stony face.

"I see I have failed more completely than I thought. You have my sincerest apologies, and my promise, Mr and Mrs Smith, Mr Potter. I will endeavour to be more forthright in the future."

Dumbledore turned to leave the infirmary, stooped as he had never before seen him, but had not passed the doors when Harry called out to him.

"Professor, I had a thought last week… Did someone make a prophesy about me? Is that why you think you're doing the right thing?"

The headmaster looked at him for a long moment as he held the infirmary door open.

"Yes," he finally admitted. "Yes, someone did."

He left without another word, and Harry went back to enjoying his parents' embrace. It had been a very long time since Christmas holidays.

It wasn't the end of the year Harry had hoped for, but he still felt grateful for a number of things. He, his parents, Hagrid, Neville, Hermione, Daphne and Draco held a small funeral for Bob the troll, who had been buried at Neville's insistence on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Doctor officiated and sang a beautiful Gallifreyan song of thanks, which made them all cry a little. Hagrid very helpfully carved Bob's name and death date into his club and planted it as a headstone for the fallen beast. Harry's parents departed soon after for their new home in the village.

Neville and Hermione, thankfully, really weren't hurt aside from a few minor bruises, and looked a lot better than Harry did when Madam Pomfrey permanently released Harry for the leaving feast on Monday. He was told, however, that under no uncertain terms was he to fly, run, jump, or engage in any strenuous activities for the next several weeks. She rather tearfully informed him he had very nearly died from internal haemorrhaging and also gave him a very large box of potions to take for the coming month.

Still, it was better than the recovery period he would have faced in a non-magical doctor's care.

He was surprised to receive a standing ovation when he entered the great hall for the leaving feast. Slytherin and Gryffindor, he noticed, seemed just as happy as everyone else to see him restored to their number.

"Just what does everyone think happened?" Harry whispered as he sat between Daphne and Draco.

"Quirrel was possessed by an evil spirit and tried to steal the stone. You were kidnapped to help him and stopped him instead."

"So, mostly the truth," Harry grumbled.

Daphne rolled her eyes and Draco scoffed.

"No," he asserted. "That sort of omission makes the rest of the story practically a lie."

"Imagine how your book sales will soar, though," Daphne quipped. "You really should look into your back-owed royalties."

"I'd rather just sue for libel and get them all shut down."

"The things you say, Potter… Sometimes I wonder if you're really a Slytherin, at all."

They broke into laughter and tucked into a magnificent feast as Dumbledore presented the House Cup to Hufflepuff (won thanks to Hermione's last-minute points on top of her House's already high score). Nearly everyone cheered, Harry included, as Professor Sprout accepted the coveted trophy. It had been close, though. Slytherin was only a couple points behind and only missed the trophy because, apparently, Weasley had picked a fight with Nott and Zabini while Harry was recovering, and the resulting loss nearly cancelled Harry, Daphne and Draco's extra points.

With bunch over and luggage in tow, the children gathered on the platform of Hogsmeade station. The red steam engine whistled and belched white clouds over the crowd of black-robed students and the few staff members seeing them off. Older students helped younger ones levitate their heavy trunks onboard, and housemates hugged one another good-bye.

"Do you think next year will be any quieter?" Hermione asked a little wistfully as she settled into her seat across from her Slytherin friends.

Neville laughed. He had changed drastically from the frightened boy Harry had met so many months ago. He'd stopped stumbling so much, and he sat straighter and laughed more easily. He was brave enough to face monsters and stubborn enough to stick around when all hope was lost.

"Course not. It's Hogwarts."

"I, for one, like the excitement," Daphne tittered. "It's such a wonderful relief after so many years of mind-numbing society."

Draco sneered and rolled his eyes.

"Society doesn't try to kill you, generally speaking."

"Let's just hope for the best," Harry laughed, interrupting what promised to be a very snarky exchange. "I promise you can still reserve the right to un-friend me if the need arises."

He was answered with several blows to the upper arms and a langlock hex for good measure.

"Right," Hermione grinned, putting away her wand. "Who's up for some exploding snap?"

Harry just grinned around his immobilized tongue. He could not have asked for better friends.

* * *

A/N: That's it, folks. Thank you for taking the time to read and review. Go to **goo (****dot) gl ****(slash) Rv1qqn **to see the first chapter of Harry's second year. Love you all.

-Forensica X


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